liiiiBi 


I^r»')' 


MEMOIRS  AND  ARTISTIC  STUDIES  OF 
ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


Memoirs  of  Charming  Women 

Memoirs  and  Artistic  Studies  of  Adelaide  Ristori, 

Translated  by  G.  Manlellini 
Memoirs  of  an  Arabian  Princess,  Translated  by  Lionel  Strache's 
Memoirs  of  Madame  Vigee  Lebrun,  Translated  by  Lionel  Slrachey 
Memoirs  of  a  Contemporary,  Translated  by  Lionel  Slrachev 

Memoirs  of  the  Countess  Potocka,     Translated  by  Lionel  Slrache]) 
A  Belle  of  the  Fifties,  being  Memoirs        Put  into  narratine  form 

of  Mrs.  Clay  of  Alabama,  by  Ada  Sterling 

A  Southern  Girl  in  '61 ,  B\)  Mrs.  D.  Giraud  Wright 

Dixie  After  the  War,  Bv  Myrta  Lockett  Avars 


I'hotottrapli  by  Schciiibuche  &•  Valdi,  K 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  MARIE  ANTOINETTE 


Memoirs   and   Artistic    Studies 


OF 


Adelaide  Ristori 


Rendered  into  English 

By  G.  Mantellini 

With  Biographical  Appendix  by  L.  D.  Ventura 

Illustrated  from 
photographs  and  engravings 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1907 


Copyright,  1007,  by  Doubledat,  Page  &  Company 
Published,  Ai'r.rsr,  1907 


All  Rights  Reserved 

Including  that  op  Translation  into  Forkign  Languages 

Including  THB  Scandinavian 


PREFACE 

The  Marchesa  Capranica  del  Grillo,  better  known  as 
Adelaide  Ristori,  died  in  Rome,  Italy,  the  9th  of  October, 
190Ó,  aged  84.  Her  life  was  full  of  vivid  contrasts;  a 
life  which,  even  apart  from  its  stage  aspects,  was  more 
than  ordinarily  full  of  colour.  Her  autobiography,  I  offer 
rendered  into  English  to  the  American  public,  primarily 
to  gratify  her  own  desire  expressed  in  one  of  her  letters 
addressed  to  Mr.  L.  D.  Ventura  of  San  Francisco,  California, 
who  has  graciously  volunteered  to  add  some  of  his  Bio- 
graphical Reminiscences  as  an  Appendix  to  this  work, 
Madame  Ristori  says:  "My  intention  is  to  have  my 
Memoirs  published  in  English.  Do  you  believe  that  such 
a  book  would  receive  a  welcome  in  the  United  States  ?"  A 
woman  of  amazing  personal  power,  gifted  with  extraor- 
dinary histrionic  genius,  though  possibly  never  revealing 
the  supreme  gifts  of  inspiration,  her  early  theatrical 
powers  were  developed  under  the  best  conditions  that 
her  native  land  afforded — she  rose  steadily  into  a  position 
of  prominence  in  Italy,  and  carried  the  glory  of  its 
dramatic  art  into  all  the  civilised  countries. 

She  became  a  favourite  of  sovereigns  and  all  the  literary 
geniuses  of  her  time,  not  only  in  her  own  country,  but  in 
the  lands  she  visited. 

What  a  shining  example  is  the  life  of  this  illustrious 
woman  who  received  the  highest  honours  and  who  ex- 
perienced the  most  noble  satisfaction,  without  her  ever 
forgetting  or  feeling  ashamed  of  her  humble  origin!  "  Both 
my  father  and  my  mother  were  modest  dramatic  actors," 
thus  she  begins  her  autobiography. 

When  she  reached  the  age,  as  she  writes,  "in  which 
the  heart  feels  the  imperious  need  of  other  affection  than 
that  of  art  .  .  .  "  the  Marquis  Giuliano  Capranica 
del  Grillo  fell  in  love  with  her  and  she  returned  his 
affection.  "  After  a  series  of  contretemps  and  of  romantic 
events,  our  wishes  were  able  to  be  accomplished."     So 


vi  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

she  writes,  but  in  these  autobiographic  notes,  the  great 
tragedienne  passes  over  what  these  contretemps  and 
romantic  events  were. 

Her  biographies  abound,  however,  with  the  particulars 
of  her  dramatic  love  story  publishicd  during  the  days  of 
her  first  triumphs  in  Paris.  Madame  Ristori  met  the 
one  destined  to  be  companion  of  the  best  years  of  her  life, 
in  Rome,  in  1846,  while  she  was  playing  at  the  theatre 
Capranica,  owned  by  the  father  of  Giuliano.  As  soon  as 
the  young  man  fell  in  love,  he  asked  formally  for  the 
hand  of  the  actress,  but  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that 
the  noble  family  of  Capranica  would  consent  to  the 
marriage  of  the  young  Marqms  wdth  an  actress.  The 
noble  father  formally  refused  and  in  order  to  put  an  end 
to  this  sentimental  romance  contrived  that  his  son, 
Giuliano,  should  be  forbidden  to  leave  the  Pontifical 
States,  when  Adelaide  Ristori  w^as  called  to  Florence, 
by  a  professional  engagement.  But  Adelaide,  as  soon 
as  she  was  able,  ran  away  from  Florence,  sailed  from 
Leghorn  and  landed  at  Civitavecchia  where  her  lover  met 
her  at  the  castle  of  Santa  Severa,  in  which  he  had  been 
confined.  The  old  ]\Iarquis  having  been  apprised  of 
the  flight  of  Miss  Ristori,  obtained  an  order  from  the 
Ministry,  to  send  Giuliano  to  Cesena  on  a  mission.  Not- 
withstanding the  difiiculties  and  discomforts  of  the  trip, 
the  two  lovers  left  together,  he  bound  for  Cesena,  and 
she  for  Florence.  During  this  romantic  journey,  the 
biographer  narrates,  they  arrived  at  a  small  village.  It 
was  the  hour  for  the  mass  service;  the  church  door  was 
open,  the  priest  officiating  at  the  altar.  The  Marquis 
Giuliano  del  Grillo,  Miss  Ristori  and  her  father  entered, 
knelt  down  before  the  altar  and  asking  those  present  to 
be  witnesses,  the  two  lovers  declared  that  they  wanted 
to  be  made  husband  and  wife.  It  seems  that  in  those 
times  such  a  hasty  form  of  marriage  was  perfectly  legal. 
The  loving  couple  had,  however,  to  separate  at  the 
frontier.  Giuliano  w^ent  to  Cesena  and  Adelaide  to  Flor- 
ence. The  young  husband  could  not  bear  long  the  cruel 
separation.  Disguising  himself  as  a  truck-driver,  and 
buying  a  passport  from  a  dancing-master,  for  which  he 
paid  800  scudi,  he  crossed  the  frontier  of  the  Pontifical 


4^r*w^v--->.^ 


It» 


~K 


N. 


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— r:.  I» 


ELEONORA  DUSE 


PREFACE  vii 

States,  and  arrived  at  Florence  in  the  evening.  Without 
being  noticed,  he  went  behind  the  scenes  of  the  theatre 
where  his  beloved  bride  was  playing,  and  she  coming  off 
the  stage  covered  with  flowers  and  applause,  found  him 
hidden  behind  the  paraphernalia.  The  little  romance 
had,  however,  a  happy  ending,  owing  to  the  interference 
of  the  mother  of  Giuliano,  who  had  recognised  the  superior 
moral  qualities  of  the  actress;  and  also  owing  to  the 
advice  of  Cardinal  Pecca.  The  marriage  was  regularly 
celebrated  in  1847. 

During  her  travels  around  the  world  Ristori  never 
forgot  to  be  an  Italian,  and  never  neglected  to  circulate 
through  the  people  of  foreign  countries  sympathy  for 
Italy,  which  was  at  that  time  divided  and  under  tyrannical 
rule.  Count  Cavour,  was  one  of  her  friends  and  admirers 
from  the  time  of  her  first  appearance.  At  Turin  in  the 
Theatre  Carignano,  where  Ristori  was  playing,  there  was 
a  foyer  for  the  actors,  and  conspicuous  politicians  would 
occasionally  go  there.  One  of  the  most  assiduous  of 
these  frequenters  was  Count  Cavour,  of  whom  Madame 
Ristori  used  to  tell  this  anecdote.  She  read  once  in 
some  of  the  papers  of  the  opposition,  some  atrocious 
words  against  his  policy  and  also  against  his  person. 
She  was  astonished  that  Cavour  was  not  annoyed,  but 
he  broke  into  laughter,  and  said,  "  Let  those  fools  of 
newspapers  say  what  they  want,  I  don't  mind  them;  on 
the  contrary,  they  amuse  me." 

The  public,  in  order  to  love  the  artist,  must  be  loved. 
And  Ristori  loved  it  up  to  her  death.  Can  anyone 
imagine  in  our  days  that  the  Prime  Minister  of  either 
France  or  Italy  should  write  to  Sarah  Bernhardt  or  to 
Madame  Duse  the  famous  letter  that  Cavour  wrote  to 
Madame  Ristori  in  1861?  "Do  use  that  authority  of 
yours  for  the  benefit  of  your  country,  and  I  will  not  only 
applaud  in  you  the  first  actress  of  Europe,  but  also 
the  most  efficacious  cooperator  of  our  diplomatic 
negotiations." 

Could  anyone  imagine  a  deputation  of  citizens  who 
would  go  to  see  Duse  or  Bernhardt,  before  the  beginning 
of  one  of  their  performances,  and  ask  her  to  intercede 
with  King  or  President  to  obtain  pardon  for  a  soldier 


vili 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


sentenced  to  death?  That  happened  in  Spain,  as  men- 
tioned in  these  "Memoirs,"  and  the  pardoned  soldier, 
by  the  name  of  Chapado,  up  to  a  few  years  ago,  would 
write  to  Madame  Ristori,  calHng  her  "my  darhng 
mother!" 

Madame  Ristori  knew  that  times  have  changed,  and 
during  the  last  winter  evenings  of  her  life,  when  she 
received  friends  in  her  palace  situated  in  the  heart  of 
the  old  part  of  Rome,  after  having  related  with  regal 
discretion  and  simplicity  some  anecdote  of  her  past 
glory,  she  would  fall  back  in  her  armchair  and  speak 
about  the  modem  drama  and  the  distracted  audiences  of 
to-day.  If  anyone  told  her  that  the  modern  theatre 
was  sceptical  and  common  because  the  audiences  wanted 
it  to  be  so,  she  would  answer  with  her  sonorous  voice, 
raising  her  beautiful,  statuesque  head  under  its  white 
widow's  crepe: 

"The  audience  is  what  the  actor  makes  it!" 

G.  Mantellini 


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INTRODUCTION 

The  proverb  which  compares  human  hfe  to  a  journey 
seems  to  have  been  invented  purposely  for  me.  My 
life  has  glided  through  continuous,  long  journeyings, 
that  I  might  bring  my  art  to  the  consideration  of  all 
peoples.  In  many  countries  it  has  been  my  privilege  to 
perform  the  leading  roles  in  various  immortal  works.  I 
have  observed  that  expression  of  human  passion  excites 
intense  sensations  in  every  race  and  clime. 

I  may  also  add  that  in  the  vocation  I  have  chosen,  I 
have  exercised  my  artistic  conscience  often  by  over- 
taxing my  physical  strength,  endeavouring  always  to 
enter  into  the  nature  of  the  character  I  had  to  represent 
by  studying  the  customs  of  the  times  and  by  making 
historical  researches.  This  I  did  in  order  to  represent  the 
physical  and  moral  personalities  of  my  characters,  whose 
manifestations  were  gentle  at  times,  at  times  terrible, 
but  always  great.  The  applause  with  which  the  most 
select  audiences  honoured  me  was  certainly  an  adequate 
return  for  my  sincere  efforts,  but  I  must  add  that  the 
highest  satisfaction  came  to  me  from  having  succeeded  in 
identifying  myself  with  the  characters  which  I  repre- 
sented and  from  having  become  inspired  by  their  passions. 
Many  times  I  left  the  stage  with  contracted  nerves, 
overcome  by  fatigue  and  emotion,  but  always  happy  in 
my  success,  for  I  adored  my  art. 

Thinking  perhaps  that  it  may  not  prove  unprofitable 
to  those  interested  in  this  art  to  follow  the  daily  struggle 
of  an  artist  with  the  part  which  she  had  to  play,  I  have 
resolved  to  give  a  faithful  account  of  mine  without 
minimising  either  its  enthusiasms  or  its  disillusions,  its 
joys  or  its  sorrows.  I  shall  mention  almost  day  by  day 
the  principal  episodes  of  my  artistic  career,  being  grate- 
ful for  the  kind  receptions  I  have  always  met,  receptions 
which  have  constantly  upheld  me,  and  to  which  I  owe 
the  perseverance  and  the  courage  that  have  led  me  to 
success. 


CONTENTS 


Preface  by  G.  Mantelliiii 
Introduction 


PART  I.     MEMOIRS 

CHAPTER  I 
My  first  appearance  on  the  stage  inside  of  a  basket — My  second 
and  memorable  debut  at  the  age  of  three — My  first  perfor- 
mance as  "enfant  prodige" — Rapid  advancement — At  the 
age  of  fourteen  I  am  entrusted  with  the  role  of  leading  lady — 
I  join  the  Royal  Drainatic  Company — Nervous  restlessness 
— Some  consideration  of  dramatic  art  in  the  first  part  of  the 
last  century    .........         3 

CHAPTER  II 

My  marriage — My  children — Dramatic  and  lyric  plays — Amen- 
ities of  the  theatrical  censure — My  short  withdrawal  to 
private  life — My  professional  trip  to  Paris  in  1855 — My 
relations  with  Rachel.        .  .  .  .  .  ,  .15 

CHAPTER  III 

My  success  in  the  tragedy  of  "Myrrha" — I  attend  a  performance 
of  Madame  Rachel — The  artistic  value  of  this  great  trage- 
dienne— New  attempts  by  mutual  friends  to  bring  me  near 
to  Madame  Rachel  .  .  .  .  .  .  .28 

CHAPTER  IV 

Farewell  to  Paris — The  six  francs  of  Alexandre  Dumas — Ready 
wit  upon  the  stage — Shakespeare's  dramas — An  unfor- 
tunate accident  which  happened  to  me  in  Naples — I  obtain 
the  pardon  for  a  man  sentenced  to  death,  in  Spain — Touch- 
ing gratefulness  of  the  unfortunate  man       .  .  .  .37 

xi 


xii  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  V 


PAGE 


A  mistake  of  the  police  concerning  a  telegram — My  professional 
tour  through  Holland — The  whiskers  of  the  students  of 
Coimbra — My  first  performance  in  French — In  Russia  .        54 

CHAPTER  VI 

In  Germany — Among  the  ruins  of  the  Acropolis — A  performance 
with  both  Ernesto  Rossi  and  Tommaso  Salvini — My  de- 
termination to  keep  the  engagements  I  had  made — Crossing 
a  bridge — My  first  professional  tour  in  America — A  night 
in  Havana      .........        65 

CHAPTER  VII 

My  first  and  stormy  performance  of  "Marie  Antoinette"  at  Bo- 
logna— Brazil  and  its  Emperor — Through  the  steppes  of 
Russia — A  wife  who  is  happy  in  being  beaten  by  her  hus- 
band— I  recite  a  scene  from  '  '  Lady  Macbeth  '  '  in  English        .        7  7 

CHAPTER  VIII 

The  departure  for  a  professional  tour  through  the  principal  cities 
of  the  world — The  Strait  of  Magellan — Peru,  its  revolu- 
tions and  revolutionary  people — '  '  Cerra  Puerta  !  '  ' — Vera 
Cruz  and  New  York — The  history  of  a  new-born  babe  and 
his  four -legged  nurse         .  .  .  .  .  .  .86 

CHAPTER  IX 

The  king  of  Hawaii  in  dress-suit  and  silk  hat — His  cleverness  and 
his  courtesy — New  Zealand  and  Australia — The  end  of  my 
professional  tour  around  the  world — The  uneasiness  of  the 
artist — Stockholm,  the  "Venice  of  the  North" — I  escape 
from  a  terrible  danger — The  students  of  Upsala   .  .  .       99 

CHAPTER  X 

I  play  "Lady  Macbeth"  and  "Elizabeth  of  England"  in  English 
— The  difficulty  I  experienced  in  acquiring  the  right  pronun- 
ciation in  this  language — My  farewell  performance  in  Paris 
— My  second  professional  tour  to  the  United  States — I  play 
with  Edwin  Booth — An  Italian  actress  who  speaks  English 
with  German  actors — The  American  compartment  cars — 
Farewell  to  the  reader!     .  .  .  .  .  .  .106 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PART  IL    ARTISTIC   STUDIES 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

Mary  Stuart — A  Tragedy  by  Schiller      ,  .  .  .  •      "S 

CHAPTER  II 

Elizabeth,  Queen  OF  England — A  Drama  by  P.  Giacometti       .      141 

CHAPTER  III 
Lady  Macbeth — A  Drama  by  William  Shakespeare  .  .      161 

CHAPTER  IV 
Medea — A  Tragedy  by  Legouvé       .  .  .  .  .  .175 

CHAPTER  V 
Myrrha — ATragedyby  Vittorio  Alfieri    .....      194 

CHAPTER  VI 
Phaedra — A  Tragedy  by  Jean  Racine        .  .  .  .      210 

APPENDIX 

Biographical  Reminiscences  by  L.  D.  Ventura       .         .         .     227 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Marie  Antoinette  Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

Eleonora  Duse vi 

Count  Camillo  Benso  Cavour viii 

Victor  Emanuel  IL,  King  of  Italy       ....  viii 

View  of  Florence  taken  from  San  Miniato     .        .  12 

Pius  IX,  Count  Giovanni  Maria  Mastai  Ferretti       .  17 

Francesca  Da  Rimini         ......  20 

Fountain  of  Molière  in  Paris 23 

Alfred  de  Musset  in  1854.     French  poet        .        .  24 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Seour  Theresa      .        .        .        .  26 

Rachel,  (Elisa  Rachel  Felix)  in  1856      .        .        .  32 

Alexandre  Dumas,  pere 39 

Alphonse  de  Lamartine 42 

Théophile  Gautier,  a  noted  French  novelist  and  poet  44 
Madame  Georges  Sand,  one  of  the  greatest  French 

novelists  of  her  sex  of  the  XIX  Century    .        .  48 

Adelaide  Ristori  in  1866 68 

Adelaide  Ristori  in  1862 68 

Tommaso    Salvini.       One   of   the   greatest    Italian 

tragedians  of  all  times 70 

Ernesto  Rosso.     A  celebrated  Italian  tragedian,  con- 
temporary to  Salvini 70 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Marie  Antoinette .    ...  77 

Rome  as  seen  from  the  Dome  of  St.  Peter's      .        .  102 


XVI 


Ml'MOlRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


5AnNG   PAGE 

Famous  German 


Frederick  Jolianii  von   Schiller. 

poet 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Mary  Stuart 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Queen  Elizabeth  . 

Adelaide  Ristori  in  1880   . 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Lady  Macbeth 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Medea 

Adelaide  Ristori  in  1876 176 


116 
132 
141 

150 
162 

175 


Adelaide  Ristori  at  the  age  of  80     . 
Rachel,  (Elisa  Rachel  Felix)  in  1854  . 
Adelaide  Ristori  as  Medea        .... 
Adelaide  Ristori  as  Phaedra         .... 

Count  Vittorio  Alfieri 

Adelaide  Ristori  as  Myrrha 

Jean  Racine.     The  greatest  French  tragic  poet 


178 
180 
182 
182 
194 
200 
210 


Madame  Sarah  Bernhardt 246 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


CHAPTER  I 

MY     FIRST     APPEARANCE     ON     THE     STAGE     INSIDE     OF     A 

BASKET MY  SECOND  AND  MEMORABLE  DEBUT  AT  THE 

AGE  OF  THREE MY  FIRST  PERFORMANCE  AS  "  ENFANT 

PRODIGE" — RAPID  ADVANCEMENT — AT  THE  AGE  OF 
FOURTEEN  I  AM  INTRUSTED  WITH  THE  ROLE  OF 
LEADING  LADY — I  JOIN  THE  ROYAL  DRAMATIC  COM- 
PANY— NERVOUS  RESTLESSNESS — SOME  CONSIDERA- 
TION OF  DRAMATIC  ART  IN  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  THE 
LAST    CENTURY 

Both  my  father  and  mother  were  modest  dramatic 
artists;  it  was  naturally  my  fate  then  to  dedicate 
myself  to  their  art;  and,  as  if  it  had  been  decreed  by 
Heaven  that  such  should  be  my  destiny,  it  happened 
that  my  parents  wished  me  to  experience  the  emotion  of 
the  stage  from  my  birth. 

I  was  hardly  three  months  old,  when  a  babe  in  swad- 
dling clothes  was  needed  one  evening  for  the  performance 
of  a  little  farce  called  "The  New  Year's  Presents."  The 
stage  manager,  taking  advantage  of  the  good  oppor- 
tunity which  provided  a  new-born  babe  for  his  company, 
caused  me  to  make  my  debut  upon  the  stage,  with  the 
consent  of  my  mother. 

The  argument  of  the  play  was  a  most  simple  and  puerile 
one.  A  young  lady,  whose  father  had  forbidden  her  to 
love  the  very  young  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her 
heart,  unites  herself  clandestinely  in  wedlock  with  him, 
and  has  a  child. 

Not  having  the  courage  to  reveal  this  terrible  act  to  her 
inexorable  father,  she  decides  to  confide,  as  is  customary, 
in  a  good  old  servant  of  the  house,  who,  moved  to  com- 
passion by  the  grief  of  these  two  unfortunates,  promises 
to  help  them  in  obtaining  the  paternal  forgiveness,  and 
invents,  for  this  purpose,  a  very  comic  stratagem. 

Then,  as  now,  it  was  the  custom  to  send  presents  to 


4  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

one's  acquaintances  on  New  Year's  day.  In  small  pro- 
vincial towns,  landowners  and  owners  of  dwellings  were 
considered  the  princes  of  the  locality,  and  their  tenants 
competed  with  one  another  in  offering  presents  to  their 
landlords — their  best  fruits,  their  largest  chickens,  and 
most  beautiful  eggs. 

The  good  servant  conceives  of  the  plan  of  putting  inside 
of  a  large  basket  of  eggs,  fruits,  and  chickens,  the  poor  little 
baby  of  his  young  mistress,  not  however,  without  having 
taken  the  necessary  precautions,  that  the  babe  should  not 
be  smothered  or  crushed.  He  then  has  the  basket 
carried  to  his  master.     The  climax  is  thus  prepared  for. 

All  the  family  of  the  landlord  and  the  guests  of  the 
New  Year's  dinner  crowd  around  the  basket,  which  has 
just  been  carried  in,  to  admire  its  contents.  At  the  rear 
of  the  group  shines  the  comic  figure  of  the  old  servant, 
wearing  a  smiling  and  quizzical  countenance,  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  awaiting  patiently  the  result  of  his  beautiful 
scheme. 

The  master  of  the  house  opens  the  basket.  With  great 
satisfaction  he  begins  to  take  out  and  examine  the  dif- 
ferent gifts,  first,  the  chickens — then,  the  eggs — then, 
the  fruit — but,  alas!  It  seems  that  the  new  fragrance, 
too  excessive  for  a  three  months'  little  nose,  had  distressed 
me,  and  before  the  time,  I  begin  to  yell,  "Huaa!  Huaa!" 
— Who  cannot  picture  that  startling  climax  ? 

A  general  stupor  arose  ! 

The  dumfounded  father  takes  a  step  backward! 
The  good  old  servant,  without  much  ado,  lifts  the  child 
from  the  basket  and  places  it  in  the  arms  of  the  em- 
barrassed grandfather.  The  surrounding  guests  are  be- 
wildered, while  the  two  young  parents  attempt  to  justify 
themselves.  But  my  crying  at  that  moment  grew  to  such 
a  pitch  that,  between  the  uproarious  laughter  and  the 
great  noise  that  the  audience  was  making  in  the  pit,  my 
shrieking  voice  drowned  everything  that  the  actors  were 
saying.  They  had  to  carry  me  hurriedly  to  my  mamma's 
dressing-room  to  give  me — that  alone  which  would 
quiet  me  at  such  a  time. 

!My  lungs  never  belied  the  splendid  promise  given  by  me 
from  the  miraculous  basket.    This  first  and  famous  event 


I 


FIRST  APPEARANCE  ON  THE  STAGE    5 

of  my  infancy  was  later  a  constant  source  of  joy  to  my 
good  mother,  who  shook  with  laughter  every  time  she 
told  me  of  the  incident. 

I  made  my  second  appearance  at  the  age  of  three. 
They  were  representing  an  old  drama  entitled  "  Bianca  e 
Fernando,"  written  by  a  lawyer  of  Avelloni.  Time,  the 
Middle  Ages.  I  had  to  take  the  part  of  a  little  son  of  a 
chatelaine,  a  widow,  who  is  ardently  in  love  with  a  gentle 
knight;  but  the  high  dignitary  to  whom  her  dying  hus- 
band has  intrusted  his  wife  and  who  is  invested  with 
supreme  power  over  the  lands,  is  also  a  rival  for  her  hand. 
This  villain,  angry  at  the  continued  and  very  sharp  re- 
fusals of  the  beautiful  widow,  sets  up  a  furious  quarrel 
when  he  learns  her  firm  resolution  to  unite  herself  at  any 
cost  only  with  the  man  of  her  choice.  The  partisans  of 
the  contending  parties  are  about  to  come  to  blows,  when 
the  young  chatelaine,  leaving  her  child  for  an  instant, 
attempts  to  interpose  and  stop  the  fight.  Then  the 
villain  throws  himself  upon  the  child,  seizes  him,  and 
threatens  to  kill  him  if  the  mother  does  not  yield  to  his 
own  desires.  In  vain  they  try  to  tear  me  from  the 
arms  of  that,  man.  The  cries  of  the  poor  mother  reach 
the  sky. 

These  insane  shouts  frightened  me  ;  the  play  became  for 
me  a  reality.  I  began  to  weep  and  to  shake  myself, 
torturing  with  my  little  hands  the  face  of  the  ugly  villain, 
by  pulling  his  whiskers  and  scratching  him  until  he  let  me 
go.  At  last  I  succeeded  in  slipping  away  from  his  arms, 
crying  aloud:  "He  hurts  me!  Mama!  Mama!  He  hurts 
me!"  My  little  legs  began  to  run  like  a  rabbit's  and  the 
attempts  of  the  actors  to  hold  me  back  were  unsuccessful. 
They  finally  found  me  hidden  behind  the  skirts  of  my 
mother,  while  the  audience  were  laughing  so  that  they 
were  compelled  to  drop  the  curtain. 

Those  who  have  a  mania  for  investigating  the  ten- 
dencies of  children  from  the  age  when  they  begin  to  put 
words  together,  and  who  make  prophecies  as  to  their 
future  life — what  would  they  have  said  of  me  after  this 
escapade?  That  the  stage  would  prove  odious  to  me, 
that  I  never  could  take  tragic  parts,  nor  look  upon  bran- 
dishing   swords    or  poignards — nevertheless   I    had    to 


6  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

dedicate  myself  to  tragedy,  and  swords  and  poignards 
became  for  me  familiar  instruments  ! 

At  the  age  of  four  and  a  half,  they  made  me  recite  in 
little  farces  in  which  they  intrusted  to  me  the  principal 
part.  Do  not  accuse  me  of  a  lack  of  modesty  if,  out  of 
respect  for  truth,  I  mention  in  these  memoirs  the  good 
profits  that  the  manager  realised  from  my  appearance 
upon  the  stage. 

Noticing  that  I  was  so  much  liked  by  the  public,  and 
understanding  that  I  was  forming  an  essential  part  of 
our  small  company,  I  began  to  take  up  the  tone  and  the 
ruses  of  an  adult.  I  remember  at  that  time  it  was  cus- 
tomary for  the  most  loquacious  and  popular  actor  of  the 
company,  during  the  intermission  before  the  last  act  of 
the  evening,  to  come  before  the  footlights  and  announce 
to  the  audience  the  performance  for  the  following  night, 
mentioning  which  actor  or  actress  would  play  the  prin- 
cipal part  in  the  production.  And  according  to  the 
interest  which  the  audience  showed  for  the  actor 
announced,  one  could  hear  a  murmur  of  approbation, 
or  even  applause. 

The  members  of  the  company  would  remain  behind 
the  curtain  listening  with  interest  to  this  manifestation 
of  the  audience.  Naturally,  I  also  had  my  ambitious 
curiosity  and,  when  they  announced  that  the  short  play 
that  would  come  at  the  end  of  the  performance  would  be 
assigned  "with  particular  care"  to  the  little  Ristori,  and 
the  audience  broke  into  applause,  all  approached  me  to 
congratulate  me.  Then  I  would  move  out  between  the 
wings,  my  tiny  hands  in  the  pockets  of  my  little  apron, 
nodding  my  head,  shrugging  my  shoulders,  and  saying 
in  a  vexed  tone  of  voice,  "What  a  bother  to  have  to 
recite  always — always!"  But  in  my  heart,  I  was  jubilant. 

At  the  age  of  ten,  I  was  intrusted  with  the  parts  of 
small  servants  who  were  summoned  to  carry  or  hand 
letters — a  very  easy  task.  The  stage  manager  would 
make  me  rehearse  many  times  lest  I  should  appear 
awkward,  too  familiar,  or  too  stiff. 

When  twelve  years  old,  I  was  booked  with  the  famous 
actor  and  manager,  Giuseppe  Moncalvo,  for  the  roles  of  a 
child.     Soon  after,  owing  to  my  slender  figure,  they  made 


FIRST  APPEARANCE  ON  THE  STAGE    7 

me  up  as  a  little  woman,  giving  me  small  parts  as  maid. 
But  they  soon  made  up  their  minds  that  I  was  not  fitted 
for  such  parts.  Having  reached  the  age  of  thirteen  and 
developed  in  my  figure,  I  was  assigned  several  parts  as 
second  lady!  In  those  days  they  could  not  be  too  partic- 
ular in  small  companies.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  I  had 
to  recite  the  first  part  among  the  young  girls  and  that  of 
the  leading  lady  alternately,  like  an  experienced  actress. 
It  was  about  this  time,  in  the  city  of  Novara  (Piedmont), 
that  I  recited  for  the  first  time  the  "Francesca  da  Rimini" 
of  Silvio  Pellico.  Though  I  was  only  fifteen,  my  success 
was  such  that  soon  afterward  they  offered  me  the  parts 
of  leading  lady  with  encouragement  of  advancement. 

My  good  father,  who  was  gifted  with  a  great  deal  of 
sense,  did  not  allow  his  head  to  be  turned  by  such  offers. 
Reflecting  that  my  health  might  suffer  from  being  thrown 
so  early  into  the  difficulties  of  stage  life  he  refused  these 
offers  and  accepted  a  more  modest  place,  as  ingenue,  in 
the  Royal  Company,  under  the  auspices  of  the  King  of 
Sardinia  and  stationed  during  several  months  of  the  year 
at  Turin.  It  was  managed  by  the  leading  man,  the  most 
intelligent  and  capable  among  the  stage  managers  of  the 
time.  The  advice  of  this  cultured,  though  severe  man, 
rendered  his  management  noteworthy  and  sought  after 
as  essential  to  the  making  of  a  good  actor. 

Among  the  members  of  the  company  shone  the  fore- 
most beacon-lights  of  Italian  art,  such  as  Vestri,  Madame 
Marchionni,  Romagnoli,  Righetti,  and  many  others  who 
were  quoted  as  examples  of  dramatic  art,  as  well  as 
Pasta,  Malibran,  Rubini,  and  Tamburini  in  the  lyric  art. 

My  engagement  for  the  part  of  ingenue  was  to  have 
lasted  three  years,  but,  after  the  year,  I  was  promoted 
to  the  parts  of  the  first  lady,  and  in  the  third  year,  to  the 
absolute  leading  lady. 

To  such  unhoped-for  and  flattering  results  I  was  able 
to  attain,  by  ascending  step  by  step  through  the  en- 
couragement and  admonition  of  my  excellent  teacher, 
Madame  Carlotta  Marchionni,  a  distinguished  actress  and 
the  interest  of  Gaetano  Bazzi  who  also  had  great  affection 
for  me.  It  was  really  then  that  my  artistic  education 
began.     It  was  then  that  I  acquired  the  knowledge  and 


8  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

the  i*ules  which  placed  me  in  a  position  to  discern  the 
characteristics  of  a  true  artist.  I  learned  to  distinguish 
and  to  delineate  the  comic  and  the  dramatic  passions. 
My  temperament  caused  me  to  incline  greatly  toward 
the  tender  and  the  gentle.  However,  in  the  tragic  parts, 
my  vigour  increased.  I  learned  to  portray  transitions  for 
the  sake  of  fusing  the  different  contrasts;  a  capital  but 
difficult  study  of  detail,  tedious  at  times,  but  of  the  great- 
est importance.  The  lamentations  in  a  part  where  two 
extreme  and  opposing  passions  are  at  play,  are  like  those 
which  in  painting  are  called  "chiaro-oscuro,"  a  blending 
of  the  tones,  which  thus  portrays  truth  devoid  of  artifice. 

In  order  to  succeed  in  this  intent,  it  is  necessary  to  take 
as  model  the  great  culture  of  art,  and  also  to  be  gifted 
with  a  well-tempered  and  artistic  nature.  And  these  are 
not  to  be  confined  to  sterile  imitation,  but  are  for  the 
purpose  of  accumulating  the  rich  material  of  dramatic 
erudition,  so  that  one  may  present  oneself  before  the 
audiences  as  an  original  and  artistic  individuality. 

Some  people  think  that  distinction  of  birth  and  a  per- 
fect education  will  render  them  capable  of  appearing  upon 
the  stage  with  the  same  facility  and  nonchalance  with 
which  one  enters  a  ball-room,  and  they  are  not  at  all 
timid  about  walking  upon  the  boards,  presuming  that 
they  can  do  it  as  well  as  an  actor  who  has  been  raised 
upon  them.     A  great  error  ! 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  that  they  meet  is  in  not 
knowing  how  to  walk  upon  a  stage,  which,  owing  to  the 
slight  inclination  in  construction,  easily  causes  the  feet 
to  totter,  particularly  if  one  is  a  beginner,  and  especially 
at  the  entrances  and  exits.  I  myself  encountered  this 
difficulty.  Though  I  had  dedicated  myself  to  the  art 
from  my  infancy  and  had  been  instructed  with  the  greatest 
care  every  day  of  my  life  by  my  grandmother,  at  the  age 
of  fifteen  my  movements  had  not  yet  acquired  all  the  ease 
and  naturalness  necessary  to  make  me  feel  at  home  upon 
the  stage,  and  certain  sudden  turns  always  frightened  me. 

When  I  began  my  artistic  apprenticeship,  the  use  of 
diction  was  given  great  importance,  as  a  means  of  judging 
an  actor.  At  that  time  the  audience  was  critical  and 
severe. 


FIRST  APPEARANCE  ON  THE  STAGE    9 

In  our  days,  the  same  audience  has  become  less  exact- 
ing, less  critical,  and  does  not  aim  to  improve  the  artist, 
by  counting  his  defects.  According  to  my  opinion,  the 
old  system  was  best,  as  it  is  not  in  excessive  indulgence 
and  solely  by  considering  the  good  qualities,  without 
correcting  the  bad  ones,  that  real  artists  are  made. 

It  is  also  my  conviction  that  a  person  who  wishes  to 
dedicate  himself  to  the  stage  should  not  begin  his  career 
with  parts  of  great  importance,  either  comic,  dramatic, 
or  tragic.  The  interpretation  becomes  too  difficult  for 
a  beginner  and  may  harm  his  future  career:  first,  the 
discouragement  over  the  difificulties  that  he  meets;  sec- 
ondly, an  excessive  vanity  caused  by  the  appreciation 
with  which  the  public  apparently  honours  him.  Both 
these  sentiments  will  lead  the  actor,  in  a  short  time,  to 
neglect  his  study.  On  the  other  hand,  by  taking  several 
parts,  he  becomes  familiar  with  the  means  of  rendering 
his  part  natural,  thus  convincing  himself  that  by 
representing  correctly  characters  of  little  importance,  he 
will  be  given  more  important  ones  later  on.  Thus  it  will 
come  about  that  his  study  will  be  more  careful. 

But  let  me  return  to  my  narrative. 

By  the  year  1840,  my  reputation  as  absolute  leading 
lady  was  established.  I  had  reached  the  desired  goal, 
not  without  having  struggled  against  the  greatest 
obstacles.  But  I  was  in  love  with  my  art,  and  it  was 
by  meeting  obstacles  that  I  was  gaining  new  strength. 

Fatigue  never  discouraged  me.  So  great  was  my 
passion  for  the  stage  that  when  my  manager  granted  me 
an  evening's  rest  for  the  sake  of  saving  my  strength  and 
also  with  the  cunning  object  of  causing  the  public  to 
desire  my  presence  the  more,  I  felt  like  a  fish  out  of  water. 
I  did  my  best  to  take  advantage  of  that  free  evening  by 
employing  it  in  the  study  of  some  new  and  difBcult  part. 
I  applied  myself  to  it  passionately,  with  the  greatest 
possible  enthusiasm;  but  when  the  hour  of  the  per- 
formance struck,  a  sort  of  restlessness  would  take  hold 
of  me  which  I  wasn't  able  to  quiet.  I  seemed  to  hear  the 
first  notes  of  the  orchestra,  the  impatient  muiinur  of  the 
audience  and  the  exhilarating  uproar  of  the  applause. 
Then  I  would  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  long 


IO  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

strides,  endeavouring  to  distract  my  mind,  and  repeating 
from  memory  some  lines  which  I  had  studied — but  in 
vain!  Irritated  by  not  succeeding  in  accomplishing  any- 
thing, I  would  suddenly  enter  my  mother's  room,  ex- 
claiming, " Shall  we  go  to  the  theatre  to  spend  an  hour?" 
"  Let  us  go,"  she  would  answer,  "  if  you  cannot  keep  away 
from  it!"  Quickly  we  would  don  our  wraps  and  hats,  and 
be  off.  Having  reached  the  theatre,  I  was  often  over- 
come by  my  gay  humour,  and  would  think  of  all  sorts  of 
pranks  to  play  upon  my  fellow  actors.  I  remember  on 
one  of  those  evenings,  they  were  playing  "Le  Memorie 
del  Diavolo,"  in  which  many  masqueraders  appeared 
at  a  certain  moment  of  the  play.  The  caprice  seized  me 
to  go  upon  the  stage  among  the  supernumeraries  as  a 
surprise  to  the  leading  man.  It  was  useless  to  attempt  to 
dissuade  me  from  that  roguish  trick.  To  don  a  domino 
and  cover  my  face  with  a  half -mask  was  but  the  matter 
of  a  minute.  I  went  on  the  stage  with  the  supernum- 
eraries. At  the  stroke  of  twelve,  they  all  had  to  unmask. 
You  may  imagine  what  ugly  looks  the  leading  man  gave 
me,  upon  noticing  my  presence.  But  I  was  motionless, 
suppressing  my  laughter  and  not  at  all  discountenanced. 
The  audience,  having  noticed  the  joke,  broke  into  loud 
applause.  Observing  that  my  fellow  actor  was  getting 
angry  I  hid  myself  among  the  supernumeraries  standing 
around  me  and  succeeded  in  withdrawing  from  the  eyes 
of  all.  Asking  forgiveness  from  my  good  companion — 
which  I  readily  obtained — I  convinced  him  that  I  had 
entered  into  that  escapade  in  fun. 

However,  my  mood  was  not  always  gay.  Often  I  was 
downcast  by  inexplicable  sadness  which,  lying  like  a  piece 
of  lead  upon  my  heart,  filled  my  mind  with  sad  thoughts. 
I  think  that  this  strange  uneasiness  of  temperament  was 
to  be  attributed  entirely  to  the  excessive  emotions  which 
I  experienced  when  playing  certain  passionate  parts. 

I  interpreted  so  realistically  the  parts  I  took  that  even 
my  health  became  afTected.  One  evening  when  I  was 
playing  "Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  the  tension  of  nerves 
and  mind  during  that  last  act  of  delirious  passion  was  so 
great  that  when  the  curtain  dropped  at  the  end  of  the 
drama,  I  was  assailed  by  a  sort  of  nerv^ous  attack,  and 


FIRST  APPEARANCE  ON  THE  STAGE        n 

experienced  in  my  brain  a  drowsiness,  so  that  I  lost  con- 
sciousness for  a  period  of  fifty  minutes. 

When  I  was  under  the  influence  of  similar  emotions,  a 
sense  of  melancholia  would  take  hold  of  me.  Then  I 
would  love  a  walk  to  the  cemetery.  I  would  remain  a 
long  time  within  that  peaceful  enclosure,  stopping  from 
time  to  time  to  read  the  inscriptions  over  the  various 
tombs,  and  I  was  moved  to  pity,  even  to  tears,  if  I  came 
upon  the  tomb  of  a  young  girl  taken  in  the  bloom  of  life 
from  desolate  parents,  an  adoring  husband,  or  from  her 
children,  and  I  would  return  home  with  my  spirit  extremely 
grieved.  Often  as  soon  as  I  had  arrived  in  a  new  town 
and  visited  the  picture  and  sculpture  galleries,  I  contrived 
to  obtain  permission  to  visit  the  insane  asylum.  When 
it  was  not  the  cemetery,  it  was  there  that  the  impulse  of 
the  moment  would  carry  me.  Demented  young  girls 
were  those  who  attracted  my  sympathy,  and  if  their 
sad,  tranquil  forms  of  insanity  permitted  me  to  enter 
their  cells,  I  would  entertain  myself  with  them  ;  and  they 
had  a  special  love  for  me,  making  me  the  confidante 
of  their  sacred  griefs  !  It  is  true  that  very  often  I  heard 
the  same  old  story — Treachery!  Abandonment! 

With  the  passing  of  years,  I  succeeded  in  outgrowing 
such  eccentricities.  By  mastering  my  nerves,  I  freed 
myself  from  those  romantic  ideas  and  nothing  could  dis- 
tract me  from  my  studies. 

The  condition  of  dramatic  art  in  Italy,  particularly  at 
that  time,  did  not  permit  the  run  of  representations 
in  the  different  cities  to  exceed  habitually  thirty  or  forty 
days.  Rarely  did  the  performances  run  for  two  months 
in  succession.  By  these  frequent  changes,  the  public 
derived  great  advantages.  It  was  not  necessary  to 
possess  a  varied  repertoire,  and  the  public  had  no  time 
to  accustom  itself  to  the  actors,  to  the  detriment  of  their 
enthusiasm.  Thus  I  had  before  me  frequently  a  new 
public  easily  moved  at  my  will  and  which,  owing  to  the 
magnetic  current  promptly  established  between  ourselves 
(a  condition  very  necessary  for  me),  could  communicate 
to  me  those  sparks  which  complete  the  artist,  and  without 
which  any  study  brings  an  impression  of  aridity  and 
deficiency. 


12  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

The  years  of  my  youth  rolled  by  in  the  pursuit  of  my 
professional  career  while  my  love  for  learning  never  grew 
any  less.  On  the  contrary,  while  advancing  in  age  I 
was  greatly  improving  in  my  artistic  vocation.  That 
nature  had  designed  me  for  the  dramatic  art,  I  could 
feel  from  the  eager  desire  urging  me  to  observe  and 
acquire  all  that  was  shown  to  me,  through  my  professional 
peregrinations.  Music,  painting,  and  sculpture  had 
always  had  for  me  a  fascinating  attractiveness.  I  will 
quote  an  example.  One  night  in  Florence,  being  worn 
out  with  fatigue  owing  to  several  successive  performances, 
I  was  longing  for  a  day  of  rest.  However,  such  a  welcome 
relief  did  not  suit  the  manager  of  the  Cocomero  Theatre, 
Signor  Somigli,  who  was  not  inclined  to  interrupt  the 
profitable  run  of  the  performances  of  "Pia  de'  Tolomei," 
which  had  met  with  great  public  favour,  and  swelled  the 
cash  receipts. 

The  greedy  manager  called  to  his  assistance  his  brother, 
who  remembered  a  desire  which  I  had  previously  ex- 
pressed and  conceived  the  idea  of  striking  me  in  my 
vulnerable  spot.  Coming  to  me,  he  said,  "  Please  do 
play  again  to-morrow  night  and  you  will  get  a  fine 
present.  " 

"I  don't  care  for  your  presents,"  I  answered 
laughing. 

"Still,"  he  added;  "if  you  knew!  .  .  .  Do  you 
remember  that  beautiful  drawing  of  the  fagade  of  our 
famous  San  Miniato  al  Monte,  you  so  much  admired  when 
in  my  house?  If  you  will  play,  it  is  yours." 

I  could  not  resist  and  accepted.  The  management 
made  another  big  cash  receipt,  while  I  played  a  whole 
evening  for  a  drawing. 


Even  at  present,  I  am  pleased  to  recollect  the  will- 
power that  I  always  exercised,  both  as  a  young  girl  and 
as  a  woman,  and  the  wise  suggestions  of  my  illustrious 
teacher,  Madame  Carlotta  Marchionni. 

Whenever  I  went  upon  the  stage,  the  fear  with  which 
the  audience  inspired  me,  would  not  abandon  me  for  a 


FIRST  APPEARANCE  ON  THE  STAGE        13 

single  second  The  audience  might  be  large  or  small, 
intelligent  or  not,  it  was  all  the  same  to  me.  The  possi- 
bility that  a  single  person  might  be  there,  who  was  in- 
telligent and  cultured  enough  to  criticise  my  ability  with 
just  discernment,  was  sufficient  to  keep  me  from  neglect- 
ing the  slightest  gesture. 

At  that  time,  the  mode  of  reading  the  lines  according 
to  the  French  school  was  in  vogue,  and  this  was  carried 
to  such  an  extreme  that  with  many  actors  it  frequently 
produced  a  tiresome  cadenza.  Without  abandoning 
totally  my  habitual  manner  of  reciting,  which  was  devoid 
of  the  above-mentioned  pedantry,  I  endeavoured  to  fuse 
that  method  with  the  Italian,  because  I  felt  that  in  order 
to  improve  the  art  of  the  drama,  it  should  submit  to  some 
transformations.  However,  I  never  was  a  servile  imi- 
tator. Whether  in  the  drama  or  in  tragedy,  I  never 
lacked  the  vivacity  and  spontaneity  of  the  Italian  tem- 
perament. It  is  a  part  of  our  nature  to  feel  the  passions 
vividly,  and,  in  expressing  them  to  be  freed  from  academic 
and  conventional  rules.  If  you  deprive  the  Italian  actor 
of  his  passionate  outbursts,  and  the  real  colouring  of  the 
expression,  he  will  remain  a  weak  and  insignificant  actor. 

I  adopted  the  system  of  a  "coloured  naturalness." 
The  public  remunerated  me  largely  for  my  studies,  as 
well  as  for  my  efforts  to  make  myself  worthy  of  so  much 
appreciation. 

Above  all,  my  own  country  was  generous  to  me,  as  far 
as  lay  within  its  power,  in  showing  me  love  and  appre- 
ciation. I  was  delighted  and  carried  away  with  exulta- 
tion in  feeling  myself  the  arbiter  of  the  stage,  able  to  stir 
all  the  emotions  of  the  heart,  whether  to  tender  or  violent 
passions.  I  hope  that  the  reader  will  forgive  me  such  an 
utterance,  considering  that  the  artist  lives  upon  the  satis- 
faction that  his  long  studies  and  hard  struggles  have 
caused  him  to  experience.  One  may  easily  comprehend 
that  the  very  recollection  of  having  reached  the  goal 
which  procured  him  so  many  exalting  joys,  electrifies 
him! 

When  for  the  first  time,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  I  was 
asked  to  play  the  part  of  Schiller's  Mary  Stuart  I  real- 
ised, after  seeing  how  much  that  great   study   cost  me, 


14  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

how  thorny  the  path  which  I  had    to    tread  must  be  if  I 
was  to  succeed,  as  I  eventually  did. 

The  reader  will  be  surprised  to  read  the  analytic  review 
which  I  make  further  on  of  that  difficult  task  and  of  the 
painful  struggle  that  it  cost  me. 


CHAPTER  II 

MY  MARRIAGE — MY  CHILDREN — DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC 
PLAYS — AMENITIES  OF  THE  THEATRICAL  CENSURE — MY 
SHORT  WITHDRAWAL  TO  PRIVATE  LIFE MY  PRO- 
FESSIONAL TRIP  TO  PARIS  IN  1855 — MY  RELATIONS 
WITH    RACHEL 

I  HAD  reached  the  age  when  the  heart  feels  the  imperious 
need  of  another  love  besides  the  one  for  art.  The 
affection  that  I  nourished  for  children  in  general,  was  not 
only  inborn  but  extraordinary  with  me,  and  I  fancied  that 
children  alone  were  destined  to  make  one  realise  true 
happiness  on  earth.  Still  I  could  not  decide  to  marry, 
lest  this  might  endanger  my  professional  career,  with 
which  I  was  infatuated.  However,  the  fates  had  des- 
tined for  me  a  companion,  a  gentle  soul,  who,  sharing 
with  me  a  love  for  my  art,  instead  of  lessening  my 
enthusiasm  encouraged  me  to  pursue  my  vocation  with 
tenacity. 

After  a  series  of  grave  difficulties  and  romantic 
adventures,  already  told  by  my  biographers,  I  united 
myself  in  matrimony  with  the  Marquis  Giuliano  Capran- 
ica  del  Grillo. 

Painful  circumstances  obliged  us,  during  the  first 
years  of  our  married  life,  to  live  separated.  Still  the 
days  of  bliss  and  comfort  soon  came  for  us.  I  had  the 
sublime  good  fortune  to  become  the  mother  of  four 
children.  Unfortunately  two  of  them  died.  The  two 
remaining  ones,  Giorgio  and  Bianca,  were  destined  to 
make  up  for  the  emptiness,  which  the  death  of  their  two 
poor  brothers  had  caused. 

We  never  wished  to  be  separated  from  them;  so  they 
grew  up  under  our  very  eyes,  and  were  for  us  a  source  of 
great  joy. 

Little  by  little,  however,  I  began  to  perceive  that  the 

IS 


i6  MEiMOlRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

first  sweetness  of  maternal  affection  was  taking  such 
hold  upon  me,  that  my  love  for  my  art  was  gradually 
decreasing  in  its  intensity.  The  abnormal  state  of  my 
mind  joined  together  with  secondary  reasons,  prompted 
me  to  retire  from  the  stage,  when  hardly  three  years  had 
elapsed  since  my  last  contract  with  the  Royal  Sardinian 
Company. 

Though  the  list  of  the  plays  of  our  company  was  very 
select,  and  included  the  productions  of  our  greatest  and 
most  celebrated  authors,  such  as  Alfieri,  Goldoni,  Nic- 
colini,  Monti,  Pellico,  Carlo  Marenco,  Nota,  Giacometti, 
Ferrari,  Gherardi  del  Testa,  Leopoldo  Marenco,  Forti s, 
Castelvecchio,  and  many  more  worthy  of  being  mentioned 
in  this  galaxy  of  stars;  still  we  could  not  compete  with 
the  lyric  art! 

For  the  benefit  of  the  opera  or  the  ballet,  the  theat- 
rical academies  lavished  immense  sums  of  money.  A 
great  spectacular  show  was  quite  an  event.  All  was 
sacrified  for  that  purpose,  while  the  neglected  dramatic 
art,  entirely  set  aside,  had  to  make  herculean  efforts  to 
keep  alive. 

The  melodious  Muse  only  was  enjoying  the  public 
favour. 

During  the  first  years  of  my  career,  so  great  was  the 
enthusiasm  for  French  plays,  which  had  become  more 
fashionable  than  our  own,  that  if  the  management  wanted 
to  make  sure  of  a  crowded  house  for  several  consecutive 
performances,  it  was  necessary  to  announce  a  play  of 
Scribe,  Dimias,  Legouvé,  Malesville,  etc.,  etc.  It  was  not 
that  the  plays  of  our  national  authors  did  not  meet  the 
public  favour,  as  their  artistic  value  was  beyond  question, 
but  granting  their  due  literary  merit,  they  lacked  the 
French  spontaneity,  mise  en  scène,  and  purity  of 
language.  The  audience,  with  rare  exceptions,  did 
become  enthusiastic  over  a  play  of  the  Italian  school. 

However,  the  decadence  of  our  drama  was  mainly  due 
to  the  harm  done  to  it  by  the  Austrian  and  Pontifical 
censure,  the  two  powers  which  governed  Italy  at  that 
period. 

Patriotic  subjects  were  absolutely  forbidden.  Moral 
plays  were  so  disguised  that  they  turned  into   farcical 


Courtesy  of  Geo.  Kirchner  &  Co.,  New  York 

PIUS  IX.,  COUNT  GIOVANNI   M.\RL\  M.\STAI  FERRETTI 
Pope  from  1846-1878 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER         17 

parodies.  The  plays  were  mutilated  to  a  mass  of  con- 
tradictions, being  at  times  rendered  completely  silly  and 
bereft  of  any  interest. 

I  will  give  you  an  idea  of  the  nonsensical  changes, 
which  were  enforced  particularly  by  the  ecclesiastic 
censor  of  those  times. 

A  doctor  had  to  say:  "I  have  cured  him  of  a  dan- 
gerous illness,"  and  the  censor  considered  it  profane  to 
mention  on  the  stage  a  word  which  designated  the  head 
of  a  parish  !  Neither  was  it  permitted  to  mention  the  word 
God,  or  angel,  or  devil.  The  actor  could  not  be  called 
Gregorius,  the  pope  at  that  time  being  Gregorius  XVI., 
or  by  the  name  of  John  and  Pius,  during  the  reign  of 
Pope  John  Mastai,  Pius  IX. 

To  utter  the  word  "  Fatherland,"  was  considered 
blasphemy!  One  day  a  play  was  presented  to  the  censor, 
whose  principal  character  was  a  deaf-mute,  who  was 
returning  home  after  a  long  exile.  In  the  book  were  the 
necessary  annotations  indicating  what  the  actor  should 
express  by  gestures.  Among  these  there  was  this 
one:  "Here  this  actor  must  express  the  joy  which  he 
experiences  in  beholding  his  fatherland — "  Well  then, 
the  censor  erased  the  word  "fatherland"  and  substi- 
tuted "native  land"!  Just  as  if  the  audience  could  by 
means  of  the  gestures,  discern  the  difference! 

Another  time,  in  Rome,  they  wished  to  perform  "  Mac- 
beth," in  which  one  of  the  witches  says:  "Here  I  have 
a  pilot's  thumb  wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come!" 
The  censor  erases  this  whole  sentence.  "Why?"  asks 
the  manager.  "Don't  you  think,"  answers  the  censor, 
"that  the  audience  will  see  in  that  sentence  an  allusion 
to  the  boat  of  St.  Peter,  which  owing  to  the  wickedness 
of  the  times,  is  about  to  be  wrecked?'' 

In  the  face  of  such  absurdities  no  good  reasoning  can 
hold! 

The  same  absurd  censure  was  exercised  with  the 
librettos  of  the  operas.  In  Verdi's  opera,  "  Luisa  Miller," 
in  the  beautiful  romance  of  the  tenor,  there  are  the  fol- 
lowing words  : 

"  While  she  with  angelic  utterance: 

'  Thee  alone,  will  I  love!  '  was  saying.     .     .     . 


i8  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

That  word  "  angelic,"  hurt  the  nerves  of  the  censor,  who 
substituted  for  it:  "armonie!"  This  change  excited  the 
hilarity  of  the  gallery  and  a  humorous  fellow  amused 
himself  by  writing  under  the  name  of  a  street  situated 
near  St.  Peter  in  Rome,  called  Via  Porta  Angelica,  "Via 
Porta  Armonica." 

Once  when  in  Rome,  they  were  going  to  produce  the 
opera  of  the  immortal  Bellini,  "Norma,"  the  censor  did 
not  allow  its  production  until  the  following  modifications 
had  been  made:  First,  that  the  title  of  "Norma," 
should  be  changed  to  "The  Forest  of  Irminsul,"  to 
remove  the  allusion  in  the  word  "norma,"  which  appears 
in  many  Italian  prayer-books;  second:  that  the  two 
sons  of  the  priestess  should  become  her  own  brothers; 
thirdly,  that  her  condemnation  to  die  upon  the  pyre 
should  be  the  result  of  having  compromised  herself  with 
the  Roman  pagans.  And  in  the  famous  final  scene, 
before  ascending  the  pyre,  instead  of  commending  her 
children  to  her  father  "Oroveso,"  she  had  to  commend 
them  to  the  Druids,  saying  :  "  Let  them  not  be  the  victims, 
etc.,  etc.,     ..." 

In  Verona,  the  Austrian  imperial  censor  has  not  yet 
been  forgotten  who  in  a  piece  of  poetry  containing  the 
phrase:  "Beautiful  sky  of  Italy,"  substituted:  "Beauti- 
ful sky  of  the  world!"  And  many  more  striking  examples 
could  be  mentioned. 

With  such  a  state  of  affairs  how  could  the  Italian 
theatre  prosper  ?  How  could  it  excite  and  keep  alive  the 
pulses  of  the  public?  As  these  were  lacking,  I  was  like 
a  body  without  a  soul!  I  felt  paralysed  under  an  un- 
bearable yoke,  which  controlled  my  gestures  and  my 
words.  It  was  not  enough  for  me  to  know  that  the 
audience  honoured  me  with  sincere,  unmovable,  true 
and  constant  affection  and  sympathy.  I  had  grown 
accustomed  to  interpret  the  part  of  the  character  I  repre- 
sented, to  live  those  few  hours  with  the  artistic  life  of 
the  play,  and  when  the  latter,  badly  conceived  or  out- 
rageously mutilated,  could  no  longer  excite  those 
enthusiasms,  no  longer  cause  those  electric  currents  which 
stir  up  and  transport  an  audience,  and  transform  and 
raise  the  artist  to  a  paroxysm  of  delirium,  I  felt  that  I 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER  19 

was  tumbling  down  from,  the  supreme  height  of  my 
aspirations.  The  applause  granted  for  myself  alone, 
seemed  to  be  cold,  and  an  invading  sadness  overwhelmed 
my  heart. 

And  thus  it  happened,  that  in  Turin,  at  the  time  men- 
tioned at  the  beginning  of  these  Memoirs,  I  decided 
suddenly  to  retire  from  the  footlights,  as  it  appeared  to 
me  that  by  entering  the  quietness  of  domestic  life,  I 
should  find  the  realisation  of  my  most  beautiful  dream. 

However,  such  a  resolution  was  only  of  short  duration. 
The  sacred  fire  of  my  art  was  only  smothered,  not 
extinguished,  and  the  proof  of  this  was  in  my  twice 
touring  professionally  the  world. 

Still,  in  spite  of  the  decision  to  leave  my  home  and 
country,  my  mind  was  preoccupied.  My  object  was  to 
vindicate  abroad  the  true  artistic  genius  of  the  Italian 
stage,  and  to  show  that  Italy  is  not  only  the  "  Land  of  the 
Dead." 

But  how  could  I  succeed  in  carrying  out  my  plan? 
Like  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  bold  project  of  an  artistic 
tour  to  France,  sprang  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Unfortunately  the  experience  which  in  the  spring  cf  1830, 
another  dramatic  company,  directed  by  the  celebrated 
actors  Luigi  Taddei  and  Carolina  Iternari,  had  under- 
gone, was  not  very  encouraging.  However,  they  could 
attribute  their  failure  to  the  terrible  revolutionary  events 
of  that  time  and  to  the  flight  of  their  protectress  the 
Duchess  de  Berry,  who  followed  the  king,  Charles  X,  in 
his  exile. 

Everything  seemed  to  foretell  that  our  project  should  be 
crowned  with  great  success.  I  informed  my  husband  of 
my  plan,  which  he  approved  immediately.  We  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  Royal  Sardinian  Company  was 
a  worthy  representative  of  Italian  art. 

The  principal  artists  were  the  celebrated  Ernesto  Rossi, 
Gaetano  Gattinelli,  Bellotti-Bon,  Mesdames  Cultini- 
Mancini,  Righetti,  Boccomini,  and  others.  The  purpose 
of  trying  to  compete  with  the  French  actors,  whose  per- 
fection in  playing  the  drama  is  not  equalled  by  those  of 
any  other  nation,  was  very  remote  from  my  mind.  I 
wished  merely  to  demonstrate  to  those  rabid  Gallophiles, 


20  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

who  praised  to  the  skies  the  merits  of  the  French  actors, 
to  the  detriment  of  the  ItaHan,  that  in  Italy  also,  we 
know  what  real  art  is,  as  well  as  how  to  interpret 
it  worthily. 

We  held  counsel  with  our  intimate  friend  Signor 
Alessandro  IMalvano,  whose  intelligence  we  could  trust. 
He  found  our  project  an  excellent  one.  Being  thus 
encouraged  by  him,  we  spoke  to  our  leading  man,  Signor 
Righetti.  Upon  hearing  us  he  was  aghast,  and  not  only 
began  by  calling  my  ideas  chimerical,  but  ended  by 
opposing  absolutely  the  project  which  was  to  bring  to  reali- 
sation "the  fancy  of  my  phantasy,"  as  he  called  it.  He 
enumerated  the  risks,  the  unavoidable  losses  we  might 
meet,  the  probability  of  our  artistic  failure.  Signor 
Malvano  then  stepped  in,  declaring  himself  to  be  per- 
suaded of  the  success  and  ready  to  assume  all  its  responsi- 
bilities, adding:  "If  there  should  be  any  loss,  I  will 
stand  it;  if  any  profit,  it  will  be  yours." 

Besides  my  salary,  I  was  to  receive  a  percentage  of  the 
gross  receipts.  At  last  in  order  to  put  an  end  to  the 
hesitation  and  fears,  we  proposed  to  him  that,  in  case 
the  company  should  sustain  a  loss,  I  should  share  with 
him  my  part  of  the  profits.  This  proposition  and  the 
convincing  arguments,  with  which  we  were  inspired  by 
our  good  faith  in  the  success  of  our  undertaking,  won 
Signor  Righetti  to  our  side. 

My  engagement  was  to  expire  shortly.  In  Italy  the 
engagements  of  dramatic  actors  begin  with  the  first  day 
of  the  Carnival  season  and  end  with  the  last  day  of  Lent. 

The  necessary  preparations  were  made;  and  we  de- 
cided to  start  the  first  of  the  coming  month  of  May,  in 
the  year  1855,  and  it  was  at  the  same  time  announced  in 
Paris  that  we  would  give  our  first  performance  on  the 
2 2d  of  the  same  month.  We  agreed  upon  the  various 
plays  to  be  performed.  Our  first  care  was  to  select  pro- 
ductions which  would  not  cause  comparison  with  those 
played  by  the  French  actors.  We  knew  that  tragedy  was 
the  field  upon  which  we  could  best  muster  ourselves,  and 
we  feared  no  comparison  with  the  Italian  dramas. 

We  chose  for  the  first  performance  the  tragedy  of 
Silvio  Pellico,  "  Francesca  da  Rimini,"  and  a  farce  in  one 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER         21 

act  called  "I  Gelosi  Fortunati,"  by  the  Roman  author 
Signor  Giraud.  I  also  was  taking  a  part  in  that  short 
play,  representing  a  young  bride  very  much  in  love  and 
very  jealous  of  her  husband.  The  passing  from  the 
tragic  to  the  comic  in  the  same  evening,  we  reckoned, 
would  make  an  impression  upon  the  French  audience. 

Prior  to  leaving  home,  I  was  supplied  with  some  letters 
of  introduction,  among  which  I  had  one  to  the  critic  Jules 
Janin  and  to  Signor  Angelo  Fiorentino,  who  contributed 
so  much  to  the  success  of  our  undertaking. 

We  left  Italy  with  our  hearts  filled  with  great  hopes. 
The  trip  began  auspiciously.  We  saw  for  the  first  time 
that  handsome  and  picturesque  section  of  France.  The 
swollen  and  impetuous  torrents  excited  our  admiration. 
Their  winding  through  the  fields  and  forests  gave  to  the 
country  a  grand  aspect,  almost  terrifying. 

A  small  number  of  our  friends  joined  us,  owing  their 
love  for  dramatic  art  to  certain  friendly  ties,  which  com- 
ing down  from  father  to  son,  bound  them  to  the  artists 
of  the  Royal  Company.  In  their  youthful  enthusiasm, 
they  wished  to  share  with  us  all  the  anxieties,  all  the  joys, 
of  the  risky  undertaking,  with  every  hope  of  witnessing 
our  triumph. 

We  arrived  in  Paris  by  night.  My  apartment  had  been 
secured  in  advance.  It  was  situated  in  the  Rue  Richelieu, 
No.  36,  near  the  Molière  fountain.  Since  then,  every 
time  I  pass  that  house,  the  most  pleasant  remembrances 
awaken  in  me. 

The  rest  of  the  troupe  found  accommodations  in  two 
modest  hotels  located  near  the  "Theatre  Italien." 

Together  with  my  husband  and  our  friends,  I  started 
immediately  to  see  the  famous  boulevards.  At  the  sight 
of  that  throng  of  people,  some  busy  and  some  idle,  ges- 
ticulating nervously,  or  walking  indifferently,  I  was 
astounded  !  To  find  myself  in  this  universal  centre  fright- 
ened me!  We  entered  the  "Cafe  Véron,"  in  order  not  to 
miss  anything  of  that  spectacle  so  new  to  us — and  ordered 
some  chocolate  to  be  served  outside  on  the  boulevard. 
Thus  we  could  enjoy  the  most  interesting  phan- 
tasmography.  So  great  was  the  impression  of  that 
animated  life,   that  not  hearing,   in  the  midst  of  that 


22  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Babylon,  a  single  word  of  our  language,  I  was  filled  with 
a  sense  of  deep  sadness. 

We  returned  home  without  saying  a  word.  I  did  not 
dare  to  speak,  either  to  my  husband,  or  to  my  friends,  of 
the  discouragement  which  I  felt,  and  as  one  may  easily 
guess,  I  passed  a  very  restless  night. 

The  following  days  I  was  somewhat  distracted  by  the 
preparations  for  our  first  performance.  I  found  some 
comfort  in  the  faith  in  our  attempt,  which  was  evinced 
by  the  numberless  Italian  political  exiles,  then  in  Paris. 
Alas!  the  greater  number  of  these  people  will  never  read 
these  Memoirs!  Manin,  Montanelli,  Musolino,  Carini,  the 
editor  of  the  Revue  Franco-Italienne,  who  became  later 
a  general  in  our  army.  Dall'  Ongaro,  Ballanti,  Toffoli,  an 
old  colleague  of  Tommaseo,  Dr.  Maestri-Federici,  Sirtori, 
Angelo  Fiorentino,  the  General  Galletti,  as  well  as  others 
who  deserv'ed  much  from  their  country,  exist  no  more, 
.  .  .  Allow  me  to  place  a  wreath  of  friendship  upon 
their  tombs! 

Together  with  our  young  Turinese  friends  we  desired 
to  attend  some  of  the  theatres.  We  were  all  very  anxious 
to  hear  the  famous  tragedienne  IMadame  Rachel,  who 
had  filled  the  world  with  her  fame.  With  great  regret, 
we  learned  that  she  was  no  longer  playing  in  Paris  at 
that  time.  She  had  previously  taken  a  leave  of  absence 
for  a  trip  to  the  United  States.  The  Parisians  were 
angry  at  her,  and  she  resided  out  of  the  city. 

Not  being  able  to  see  Rachel,  who  was  the  main  object 
of  our  curiosity,  we  had  to  satisfy  ourselves  with  a  per- 
formance of  the  "Comédie  Frangaise,"  so  celebrated  for 
the  care  it  took  in  staging  its  productions,  deserving  the 
first  place  in  Europe.  Even  without  the  great  tragedienne, 
a  visit  to  the  Comédie,  was  the  "desideratum"  of  every 
tourist  who  came  to  Paris.  We  had  no  time  to  lose,  in 
order  to  give  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  attending  a  per- 
formance at  the  "Maison  de  Molière,"  as  our  season  was 
to  begin  on  the  2 2d  and  it  was  already  the  17th.  We  saw 
on  the  programme  the  name  of  Mile.  Augustine  Brohan, 
greatly  renowned  for  her  animation  and  comic  talent. 
She  was  playing  that  evening  one  of  her  favourite  crea- 
tions, "Le  Caprice,"  by  Alfred  de  Musset.     Though  very 


FOUNTAIN  OF  MOLIÈRE  IN  PARIS 
House  on  the  right,  where  Madame  Ristori  lived  in  1855 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER         23 

much  worried  about  our  coming  debut,  still  we  wished  to 
attend  that  performance,  but  we  had  not  had  the  time 
to  engage  our  tickets  ahead.  A  few  moments  before  the 
performance  was  to  begin,  we  walked  leisurely  to  the 
ticket  office  and  asked:  "Une  loge?  "Une  loge!" 
exclaimed  the  employee,  looking  at  us  curiously.  "  Une 
loge  pour  ce  soir?  Vous  n'etes  pas  presses!  Pourquoi 
n'etes-vous  pas  venus  huit  jours  plus  tard?"  However 
he  had  pity  for  our  embarrassment  and  generously  offered 
us  tickets  for  "le  paradisi"  My  husband  hesitated,  but 
our  young  friends  with  their  customary  good  humour, 
were  ready  to  accept.  For  my  part,  I  was  not  very  willing 
to  make  my  first  appearance  in  the  House  of  Molière  in 
that  way.  Still,  we  had  no  choice.  .  .  .  After  con- 
sulting each  other  a  moment,  we  laughingly  ascended 
the  five  stories  and  took  triumphant  possession  of  our 
seats,  in  the  upper  gallery.  From  that  height,  we  could 
applaud  with  the  usual  Italian  enthusiasm.  Mile.  Bro- 
han's  exquisite  way  of  playing  gave  us  all  great  pleasure, 
and  I  took  away  the  impression  of  a  perfect  evening. 

Previous  to  beginning  my  performance,  I  took  my 
letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jules  Janin.  As 
the  latter  was  closely  bound  by  friendly  ties  with  Mme, 
Rachel,  I  asked  of  him  the  favour  of  an  introduction.  I 
was  anxious  to  know  personally  so  great  a  celebrity  and 
also  to  ask  of  her,  as  a  fellow  tragedienne,  her  moral 
support  in  my  attempt.  My  ardent  desire  could  not  be 
granted.  Mme.  Rachel  was  in  her  villa.  I  wished  to 
write  her,  but  was  dissuaded  by  Mr.  Janin  and  by  others, 
who  assured  me  that  the  famous  artist  was  about  to  come 
to  the  city,  and  thus  I  would  have  every  opportunity  to 
meet  her.  With  a  nervous  and  impressionable  character 
like  that  of  Mme.  Rachel,  such  a  step  from  me,  might 
have  caused  the  opposite  of  my  desired  purpose.  Writing 
her  without  the  formality  of  an  introduction,  was  almost 
dealing  with  her  as  an  equal,  and  she  had  good  reason  to 
consider  herself  in  an  exceptionally  privileged  position. 
It  was  like  trying  to  teach  her  a  lesson  in  manners,  what 
the  laws  of  hospitality  would  have  suggested  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house  to  do  for  a  stranger,  who  was  about 
to  cross  her  threshold. 


24  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

I  allowed  myself  to  be  convinced  by  those  arguments, 
though  they  seemed  to  be  rather  subtle  and  puerile,  and 
later  in  my  life,  I  repented  my  docility. 

On  the  appointed  night,  we  began  our  series  of  per- 
formances as  previously  announced.  The  impression 
we  produced  upon  the  French  audience  was  rather  a 
satisfaction  to  our  pride.  The  press  was  unanimously 
favourable,  and  we  obtained  the  approbation  of  the 
greatest  number  of  renowned  critics.  The  famous  scene 
in  the  3d  act,  in  which  Paolo  and  Francesca  reveal  their 
love  to  each  other,  was  much  applauded,  and  Francesca 's 
death,  which  does  not  offer  to  the  artists  so  good  an 
opportunity  to  draw  great  dramatic  effects  as  to  excite 
strong  emotions  in  the  audience,  inspired  the  great  Dumas 
to  write  a  very  flattering  article  for  my  benefit. 

The  impartial  appreciation  of  the  press  was  due  to 
such  critics  as  Alexandre  Dumas,  who  afterward  became 
such  a  good  friend  of  mine,  Jules  Janin,  Théophile  Gautier, 
Jules  de  Premory,  Paul  de  St.  Victor,  Leon  Gozlan,  Merry, 
Theodore  Anne,  and  many  others,  who  all  were  very  kind 
to  me. 

Some  among  the  devotees  of  Rachel  timidly  granted 
that  I  had  facility  in  tragedy  and  agreed  that  I  possessed, 
to  a  greater  extent  than  Rachel,  flexibility  of  voice,  but 
claimed  that  I  lacked  the  necessary  vigour  to  interpret 
properly  violent  passions.  They  affirmed  that  I  lacked 
plastic  classicism  of  movements  in  my  poses,  the  carriage 
of  a  goddess,  which  the  great  Rachel  possessed  as  she 
crossed  the  stage  wrapped  in  the  pehluni. 

I  might  have  bowed  my  head  under  that  judgment 
and  acknowledged  that  nature  had  denied  me  those  gifts, 
which  the  sympathy,  indulgence,  and  loving  interest  of  my 
countrymen  had  recognised  in  me,  but  a  verdict,  so 
quickly  pronounced,  was  somewhat  suspicious.  To  men- 
tion energy,  strength,  and  violence  in  connection  with 
the  sweet  and  pathetic  character  of  Francesca,  was  non- 
sense. It  revealed  their  deliberate  intention  of  opposing 
me  at  any  cost  and  of  prejudicing  the  public  at  once, 
without  giving  time  to  reflect  or  compare,  or  even  the 
chance  to  express  liberally  its  own  opinion.  That  veidict 
might  have  excited  my  pride,  rather  than  have  awakened 


ALlRi;i)   ])K  AU'SSET   L\    I85-t 
French  poet.     Great  admirer  of  Madame  Ristori,  to  whom   he  dedi- 
cated a  poem  calling  her  "  La  Force  unie  a  la  Beauté  " 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER         25 

in  me  the  honest  sentiment  of  modesty,  but  pride  was 
not  indeed  my  failing.  Those  precocious  criticisms  vexed 
me,  because  they  showed  me  that  my  appearance  upon 
the  French  stage,  was,  by  some  people,  ill-interpreted. 

Whenever  I  had  a  chance,  I  told  both  my  most  intimate 
friends  and  most  severe  critics,  that  I  never  had  the 
presumption  to  come  to  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
peting with  their  own  sublime  actress.  My  object  was 
more  modest  and  more  generous.  I  only  wished  to  show 
that  in  Italy  also,  the  dramatic  art — ^which  has  for  cen- 
turies been  its  pride,  and  its  glory — was  still  alive  and 
considered  a  passionate  and  superior  cult.  As  to  my- 
self, let  them  wait  until  they  had  seen  me  act  the  various 
parts  of  my  repertoire,  and  given  proof  of  my  ability. 
Then  if  they  insisted  upon  making  comparisons,  which  I 
could  not  control  and  was  unable  to  avoid,  let  them  show 
their  impartiaHty  and  serenity  of  mind,  reserving  their 
criticisms  for  a  part  that  afforded  a  reasonable  foundation 
for  justifiable  comparison.  The  tragedy  of  "Myrrha," 
might,  for  instance,  be  compared  with  that  of  "Phaedra." 
This  analytic  comparison  forms  one  of  the  principal  studies 
comprised  in  these  pages. 

The  third  performance,  including  a  double  bill,  viz.  : 
"Un  Curioso  Accidente"  and  "La  Locandiera,"  both  of 
the  immortal  Goldoni,  we  produced  on  the  26th.  The 
role  of  Mirandolina  was  one  of  my  favourites.  In  inter- 
preting that  character,  I  have  endeavoured  to  adopt  the 
Goldonian  style.  One  should  understand  the  coquettish 
of  that  school,  as  it  is  very  different  from  the  present. 
The  colouring  must  absolutely  bend  toward  the  conven- 
tional naturalness,  which  creates  the  principal  impression 
of  the  Goldonian  characters.  The  "  cunning  "  Locandiera, 
is  not  like  the  "Flatterer"  of  Nota,  a  "Celimene"  of  our 
own  times;  and  the  character  of  Mme.  Aramante,  in  the 
"False  Confidenze"  of  Mariveau,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
a  flirt  of  the  modem  French  school.  The  role  of  Mir- 
andolina was  one  of  the  chief  roles  which  gladdened  my 
artistic  career,  owing  to  the  passion  that  I  experienced 
in  playing  the  above-mentioned  comedy  of  Goldoni. 

I  should  like  to  have  the  actress  who  performs  it  now, 
take   notice  of    my  remarks.     I    venture  to  make  this 


26  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

suggestion  not  out  of  vanity,  but  with  the  desire  to  see 
this  art  interpreted  according  to  the  times  and  the 
different  school  to  which  it  belongs. 

The  Locandiera  was  very  much  liked  by  the  Parisians, 
although  the  comic  style  in  a  foreign  language  was  not 
of  easy  comprehension. 

We  then  resolved  to  produce  "Myrrha"  by  Alfieri,  but 
owing  to  a  lack  of  time,  it  had  not  been  sufficiently 
announced  to  stir  up  the  curiosity  of  the  public.  However, 
the  house  was  more  crowded  than  ever  before,  and  all 
the  representatives  of  the  press  were  present.  This 
tragedy,  revealing  the  pure  and  severe  Italian  style,  with 
distinct  Greek  form,  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  demon- 
strate my  artistic  ability  and  the  profound  psychological 
study  I  had  made  of  the  part.  It  also  proved  that  our 
Italian  school  knows  how  to  ally  the  Greek  plasticism 
with  the  natural  spontaneity  in  reading  the  lines,  while 
being  entirely  freed  from  academic  conventionalities. 
It  must  be  granted  that  academic  teaching  does  not  lack 
praiseworthy  qualities,  but  we  argue  that  in  its  portrayal 
of  passion,  one  should  not  bear  in  mind  the  extent  and 
the  rules  for  raising  an  arm  or  a  finger.  Provided  that 
the  gestures  are  noble  and  not  discordant  with  the  ex- 
pressed sentiment,  one  can  allow  the  actor  all  his  spon- 
taneity. Hesitation  and  conventionality  are  apt, 
according  to  my  humble  opinion,  to  hide  the  truth. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  living  examples  of  this  school 
of  realism  is  my  illustrious  fellow  artist,  Signor  Tommaso 
Salvini,  with  whom,  for  a  number  of  years,  I  had  the 
fortune  to  share  the  fatigues  and  the  honours  of  the  pro- 
fession, which  I  also  shared  with  Ernesto  Rossi.  The 
former  was  and  is  still  admired.  His  rare  dramatic 
merits  have  nothing  of  the  conventional,  but  owe  their 
power  to  that  spontaneity  which  is  the  most  convincing 
revelation  of  art.  The  wealth  of  plasticity  which  Salvini 
possesses,  is  in  him  a  natural  gift.  Salvini  is  the  true 
exponent  of  the  Italian  dramatic  art. 

Returning  to  my  performance  of  "Myrrha,"  I  will  say 
its  success  surpassed  all  our  expectations.  At  the  end 
of  the  fourth  act — which  is  so  masterly  conceived  by  the 
great  Alfieri — the  entire  audience  seemed  to  be  delirious. 


ADELAIDE   RISTORI   AS  SUOR  TERESA 


AMENITIES  OF  DRAMATIC  CAREER         27 

The  foyer  of  the  theatre  was  invaded  by  celebrated 
literary  authorities  and  artists  of  all  kind.  Alexandre 
Dumas  was  kissing  my  mantle  and  my  hands.  Janin, 
Legouvé,  Scribe,  Théophile  Gautier,  and  many  other 
actors  and  playivrights  joined  their  enthusiasm  to  that  of 
my  compatriots,  reaching  almost  a  paroxysm  ! 

In  the  fifth  act,  during  the  famous  scene  between  Myrrha 
and  Cinyras,  her  father  (the  latter  part  being  interpreted 
with  exceptional  ability  by  Rossi),  the  audience  never 
stopped  their  applause,  their  shouts  and  their  admiration. 

The  tremendous  success  of  that  tragedy  in  Paris,  com- 
pensated me  with  usury,  for  my  hard  and  strenuous  study 
in  learning  to  interpret,  in  a  worthy  manner,  that  most 
difficult  part  of  Myrrha. 

From  the  short  analysis  that  I  make  further  on  one  can 
easily  imagine  how  difficult  a  task  it  was! 


CHAPTER  III 

MY  SUCCESS  IN  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  "  MYRRHA  " — I  ATTEND  A 
PERFORMANCE  OF  MADAME  RACHEL — THE  ARTISTIC 
VALUE  OF  THIS  GREAT  TRAGEDIENNE — NEW  ATTEMPTS 
BY  MUTUAL  FRIENDS  TO  BRING  ME  NEAR  TO  MADAME 
RACHEL 

The  evening  on  which  we  performed  the  tragedy  of 
"Myrrha,"we  won  the  sympathy  of  those  also  who  had 
not  shown  themselves  very  favourable  to  us  after  hearing 
the  "Francesca  da  Rimini." 

In  order  to  give  the  other  actors  of  our  company  a 
chance  to  distinguish  themselves,  we  soon  afterward 
produced  some  of  the  plays  in  w^hich  they  could  display 
their  special  talents. 

On  the  31st,  we  produced  "II  Burbero  Benefico,"  by 
Goldoni,  and  "  Il  Niente  di  Male,"  by  F.  A.  Bon.  On  the 
2d  of  June,  "La  Suona  trice  d'Arpa,"  by  David  Chiassone 
and  "  Mio  Cugino  "  by  Angelo  Brofferio. 

The  day  on  which  we  were  to  play  "II  Burbero  Bene- 
fico," I  w^as  informed  to  my  great  surprise  and  regret,  that 
Madame  Rachel  had  not  only  returned  to  the  city,  but 
had  purchased  a  box  for  the  performance  of  that  evening. 
I  felt  very  much  grieved  about  it!  If,  after  the  uproar 
aroused  by  the  papers,  it  was  the  intention  of  the  great 
Parisian  artist  to  come  over  to  criticise  me,  she  certainly 
had  chosen  a  poor  performance  upon  which  to  base  her 
criticism!  "II  Burbero  Benefico"  is  certainly  one  of  the 
best  plays  of  Goldoni,  but  the  role  of  the  leading  lady 
finds  itself  relegated  to  a  secondary  place,  almost  to  a 
shadow,  in  order  to  bring  out  more  conspicuously  the 
personality  and  the  character  of  the  leading  man.  In 
interpreting  the  role  of  Mme.  Delancour,  I  could  not 
fully  bring  into  evidence  my  artistic  qualities  ;  I  could  not 
display  the  amount  of  my  intelligence,  as  I  might  have 
done  in  interpreting  the  very  difficult  part  of  "Myrrha." 

28 


DEBUT  BEFORE  THE  PARISIANS  29 

The  step  that  Madame  Rachel  had  taken  caused  me 
still  another  embarrassment.  .  .  ,  Her  having,  un- 
beknown to  me,  rented  a  box  at  our  theatre,  revealed 
clearly  her  wish  to  keep  herself  aloof  and  to  maintain  her 
incognito.  Could  I,  within  the  limits  of  my  dignity,  put 
myself  forward  and  introduce  myseF  to  her,  ofTer  her  a 
box,  and  thus  in  a  certain  way,  deny  her  freedom  of 
judging  me  at  her  own  pleasure?  It  was  a  matter  of 
delicacy,  of  decorum  and,  in  the  meantime,  of  artistic 
pride.  If  I  had  wished  to  invite  Rachel  to  attend  one  of 
my  performances,  I  should  have  preferred  to  have  her 
see  me  in  the  role  of  Myrrha,  or  Mary  Stuart,  or  Francesca 
da  Rimini.  But  I  did  not  wish  to  appear  over-anxious. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  wanted  to  see  me  as  an  actress,  before 
greeting  me  as  a  guest. 

The  following  day  I  ran  into  my  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.' 
Jules  Janin,  to  whom  I  had  expressed  my  regret  at  what 
had  happened.  They  quieted  me  and  reassured  me,  and 
added  that  if  I  had  presented  Mme.  Rachel  with  a  box 
for  my  coming  important  performance,  she  would  cer- 
tainly not  have  refused  the  invitation.  In  the  meanwhile 
they  would  try  to  see  her  very  soon,  and  arrange  for  a 
dinner  party  to  bring  us  together. 

During  that  time,  we  were  none  too  well  satisfied  with 
the  financial  results  of  our  undertaking,  and  Signor 
Righetti,  our  leading  man,  did  not  spare  me  his  reproaches, 
nor  did  he  show  any  scruples  in  making  me  responsible 
for  what  he  called  his  own  ruin. 

We  were  very  much  preoccupied  with  the  thought  of 
preventing  this  sort  of  a  failure.  Our  common  friends 
quieted  and  reassured  us,  by  saying  that  if  I  were  able  to 
get  another  large  audience  and  repeat  the  success  of 
"Myrrha,"  we  could  easily  draw  still  larger  ones. 

On  Tuesday,  June  the  5th,  "Myrrha"  was  repeated. 
After  the  enthusiastic  criticism  of  the  press,  the  audience 
filled  the  house,  while  the  success  of  the  performance 
surpassed  all  expectations.  After  that  night,  they  wished 
for  nothing  but  "Myrrha."  The  financial  and  artistic 
success  was  now  totally  assured.  The  tragedy  con- 
tinued to  be  repeated  until  we  produced  "  Mary  Stuart." 
The  press  unanimously  followed  the  ovation       of  the 


30  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

audience.  Both  the  analysis  and  the  appreciation 
resulted  in  being  rather  unfavourable  to  Rachel.  To  this 
significant  verdict  of  the  press,  was  added  the  accusation 
that  the  celebrated  tragedienne  had  received  with  in- 
gratitude the  great  love  that  the  Parisian  audience  had 
always  borne  for  her,  adoring  her  as  a  Muse,  as  one  of 
their  own  creations.  Whether  such  charges  were  justi- 
fiable or  not,  I  was  unable  to  judge,  but  with  such  a  state 
of  affairs,  it  was  no  longer  tactful  for  me  to  invite  her  to 
come  and  hear  me.  She  might  have  supposed  that  I 
wanted  her  to  be  a  witness  of  my  triumph.  .  .  . 
Thus,  I  abstained  from  inviting  her,  and  won  the  appro- 
bation of  my  friends,  Janin,  Ary  Scheffer  and  others  whom 
I  had  consulted.  On  the  other  hand,  Rachel's  friends 
who  at  first  bade  defiance  to  my  success,  now  tried  to 
paralyse  it,  fearing  that  it  might  hurt  Rachel  and  eclipse 
the  radiance  of  her  aureole  ...  it  was  truly  a  mis- 
take even  to  suppose  it. 

When,  owing  to  the  unexpected  return  of  Rachel  to 
the  stage,  I  had  the  opportunity  of  hearing  her,  on  the 
evening  of  June  6th,  in  the  role  of  Camille  in  "Les 
Horaces,"  my  conviction  was  more  than  ever  confirmed. 

Mr.  Arsene  Houssaye  had  kindly  offered  me  a  box  in  the 
name  of  the  Comédie  Franpaise,  of  which  he  was  then  the 
general  manager,  so  that  I  could  attend  that  solemn 
performance  which  coincided  with  the  anniversary  of  the 
death  of  the  great  Corneille. 

As  soon  as  Rachel  made  her  appearance  on  the  stage, 
I  understood  at  once  the  power  of  her  fascination.  She 
looked  like  a  Roman  statue!  her  majestic  carriage,  her 
regal  bearing,  the  folds  of  her  mantle,  everything  was 
presented  with  admirable  artistic  skill.  Perhaps  the 
critics  might  have  taken  exception  to  the  stiffness  of  the 
folds  of  her  skirt,  which  were  never  disarranged.  It  is 
easy  for  me,  as  a  woman,  to  comprehend  the  reasons  for 
this.  .  .  .  Rachel  was  very  thin  and  was  using 
every  method  to  conceal  it.  But  how  admirably  she 
did  do  it!  She  possessed  modulation  of  voice,  to  a  high 
degree — at  times  she  was  fascinating.  In  the 
stupendous  culminating  scene,  where  we  have  the  impre- 
cation against  Rome  and  the  Romans,  she  uttered  such 


DEBUT  BEFORE  THE  PARISIANS  31 

accents  of  hatred,  of  rage,  that  the  whole  audience  was 
frightened.  I  had — without  any  hesitation — confirmed 
the  verdict  passed  by  all  Europe  upon  the  eminent 
qualities  which  had  gained  for  Rachel  her  glorious  fame. 
She  not  only  possessed  genius  for  the  stage,  power  of 
forceful  expression,  nobility  of  features,  reality  and 
nobility  of  pose  ;  she  also  knew  how  to  enter  into  the  life 
of  the  character  that  she  represented,  and  she  held  herself 
in  it  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  play,  without 
neglecting  any  details,  producing  majestically  all  of  its 
great  effects,  and  giving  scrupulous  attention  even  to 
the  least  noticeable.  It  is  only  by  attaining  such 
exactitude  that  one  may  be  proclaimed  a  great  artist. 

I  could  only  feel,  hear  and  see  her,  and  I  paid  tribute  to 
her  with  my  most  frantic  applause.  How  well  I  appre- 
ciated, after  that  evening,  the  impartial  criticism  which 
declared  that  there  existed  between  us  no  points  of  com- 
parison derogatory  to  either  one. 

We  were  following  two  totally  opposite  ways;  we  had 
two  different  manners  of  expression.  She  could  inflame 
an  audience  with  her  outbursts,  though  academic,  so 
beautiful  was  her  diction,  so  stately  her  acting.  In  the 
most  passionate  situations,  her  expressions,  her  poses, 
everything  was  regulated  by  the  rules  of  the  traditional 
French  school;  nevertheless  the  power  of  her  voice,  the 
fascination  of  her  looks  were  such  that  one  had  to  admire 
and  applaud  her. 

We  Italians,  in  playing  tragedy,  do  not  admit  that  in 
culminating  points  of  passion,  the  body  should  remain 
in  repose;  and  in  fact,  when  one  is  struck  either  with  a 
sudden  grief  or  joy,  is  it  not  a  natural  instinct  to  carry 
one's  hands  to  the  head  ?  Well  then,  in  the  Italian  school, 
we  maintain  that  one  of  the  principal  objects  in  reciting 
is  to  portray  life  and  reality,  what  nature  shows  us. 

What  grieved  me  was  the  knowledge  that  every 
attempt  which  had  been  made  by  my  friends  to  bring  me 
near  to  Rachel  had  failed,  and  that  it  was  owing  to  the 
resolution  of  the  fanatical  admirers  of  the  French  trag- 
dienne,  to  keep  us  apart  one  from  the  other.  Unfor- 
tunately one  can  always  find  over-zealous  persons,  ready 
with   untrue   gossip,   to   restrain   relations!   These  took 


32  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

pleasure  in  leading  people  to  make  Rachel  believe  that 
I  spoke  with  envy  of  her.  Others  tried  to  tell  me  that 
Rachel  in  her  bursts  of  professional  jealousy  made 
disparaging  remarks  about  me  ;  they  even  went  so  far  as 
to  endeavour  to  persuade  me  thatMme.  Rachel,  wishing  to 
attend  a  performance  of  "Myrrha,"had  gone  to  the  theatre 
dressed  in  such  a  way  that  she  could  not  be  recognised; 
and  in  order  to  avoid  the  remarks  and  comments  of  the 
curious  had  kept  herself  in  the  rear  of  the  "bagnoire"; 
that  after  the  fourth  act,  which  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, was  the  culminating  point  of  my  role,  when  the 
audience  was  bursting  into  applause,  she,  not  being  able 
to  restrain  her  rage,  tore  the  book  of  the  play  which  she 
held  in  her  hands,  exclaiming:  " Cette  femme  me  fait 
mal,  je  n'en  peux  plus  (thiswoman  hurts  me,  I  can  not  stand 
her  any  longer),"  and  resolutely  left  the  theatre,  in  spite 
of  the  attempts  of  the  people  who  escorted  her  to  hold  her 
back.  I  never  placed  any  faith  in  such  talk,  and  I  tried 
my  best  to  calm  the  excitement  of  Rachel's  friends  by 
proving  to  them  that  her  great  merit  raised  her  above 
the  instability  of  public  opinion,  and  that  my  success 
could  not  belittle,  in  the  least,  the  greatness  of  her  talent. 

My  performances  went  on  with  the  increasing  favour 
of  the  public.  The  outbursts  of  applause  with  which  I 
was  greeted  when  I  made  my  entrance  upon  the  stage, 
were  as  welcome  to  me  as  the  profound  silence  which 
followed.  How  great  an  inspiration  is  the  silence  of  the 
audience!  When  I  happened  to  represent  subjects  of  the 
greatest  importance  before  an  audience  accustomed  to 
accord  to  art  a  fervent  worship,  ready  to  assimilate  the 
passions  which  are  reproduced,  I  might  even  say,  an 
audience  whose  heart  beat  with  the  very  palpitations  of 
the  character  which  moved  it,  all  this  intoxicated  me, 
caused  me  to  feel  my  power  redoubled,  I  would  find 
suddenly  some  inspiration,  some  effect,  which  I  had  never 
studied,  but  which  was  more  realistic,  more  vivid  than 
before. 

The  predominating  sensation  was  one  of  legitimate 
pride,  in  the  knowledge  that  I  held  within  myself  the 
prolific  inspiration  of  my  art. 

"  Mary  Stuart"  of  Schiller,  translated  into  Italian  with 


, 


RACHEL  (ELISA  RACHEL  FELLX),  IN  1856.    (18^21-1858) 


DEBUT  BEFORE  THE  PARISIANS  33 

splendid  verses  by  Andrea  Maffei,  concluded  my  suc- 
cessful season  in  Paris.  I  alternated  the  series  of  the 
performances  of  " Mary  Stuart, "  with  "Pia  de'Tolomei." 
I  cannot  say  that  the  latter  met  the  success  of  either 
"Mary  Stuart"  or  "Myrrha,"  however,  it  succeeded  in 
impressing  the  public.  Besides,  in  a  literary  way,  it 
afforded  a  special  interest,  as  being  inspired  by  the 
famous  verses  of  Dante.  Our  much-renowned  tragedian, 
Signor  Carlo  Marenco,  knew  how  to  lift  the  action  of  the 
last  act  and  bring  it  to  such  a  climax  that  the  heart- 
rending impression  of  the  final  scene,  would  bring  the 
development  of  the  subject  to  a  supreme  culmination. 

The  criticism,  analysing  the  preceding  acts,  may  have 
been  severe,  but  it  was  obliged  to  pay  its  tribute  of  tears 
to  her  who  says  : 

"I  once  was  Pia,  Sienna  gave  me  life, 
Maremma  took  it  from  me.     That  he  knows, 
Who  me  with  jewell'd  ring  had  first  espous'd." 

(Dante,  Purgatory,  Canto  V,  Verse  131.) 

The  death  of  Pia  in  the  fifth  act  of  the  play,  had  cost 
me  great  study,  as  I  wished  to  reproduce  faithfully  the 
spasms  of  the  agony  and  the  last  death  struggle  of  a  young 
woman,  imprisoned  at  the  request  of  an  unjustly  cruel 
husband,  in  a  castle  surrounded  by  the  pestiferous  swamps 
of  the  Maremma.  Such  an  end  troubled  me.  How  was 
I  to  express  upon  the  stage,  with  perfect  truth,  the 
lugubrious  picture  of  a  long  agony?  Just  at  this  time,  a 
most  extraordinary  event  caused  me  to  witness,  in  spite 
of  myself,  the  last  moments  of  an  unfortunate  woman  who 
was  dying  of  malarial  fever.  This  desolating  scene 
fixed  itself  so  profoundly  upon  my  mind,  that  while  it 
assisted  me  in  reproducing  faithfully  the  heart-rending 
death  of  Pia,  portrayed  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  poor  woman 
I  had  seen  die,  and  at  every  performance,  the  painful 
scene  thus  recalled,  would  appear  and  trouble  me  pro- 
foundly. 

After  six  performances  of  this  tragedy  we  had  to 
reproduce  "  Myrrha  "  and  "  Mary  Stuart."  At  this  period, 
one  may  say  the  Italian  drama  had  become  established 
in  Paris.  The  ones  who  sided  with  the  great  tragedienne 
Rachel,  could  not  console  themselves;  and  the  attacks 


34  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

against  me  were  kept  up  unceasingly.  It  was,  therefore, 
to  my  great  astonishment  that  I  received  one  day  from 
one  of  Rachel's  partisans  an  invitation  to  a  banquet  in 
the  home  of  a  literary  man,  where  I  should  at  last  meet 
Mme.  Rachel.  My  husband,  after  having  run  over  the 
list  of  names  of  the  invited  guests,  did  not  deem  it  ad- 
visable for  me  to  accept  and  we  found  a  plausible  pretext 
to  refuse  the  invitation. 

Time  was  gliding  along,  and  I  no  longer  thought  of 
the  possibility  of  meeting  Mme.  Rachel,  when  one  morn- 
ing they  announced  to  me  that  Mme.  Ode,  the  famous 
dressmaker  of  the  Empress  Eugenie,  wished  to  speak  to 
me  on  a  matter  of  importance.  I  thought  at  first,  that 
it  was  regarding  some  of  my  costumes,  she  being  also  my 
dressmaker. 

"  I  come  on  a  mission  from  Mme.  Rachel!  " 

"From  Mme.  Rachel?"  I  inquired  surprised. 

"  Yes,  Madame,  and  I  hope  you  w411  render  my  mission 
an  easy  one."  Mme.  Ode,  noticing  my  astonishment 
more  and  more,  stated  her  errand  without  any  further 
preambles. 

"You  must  have  heard,"  resumed  Mme.  Ode,  "how 
much  Mme.  Rachel  feels  the  attacks  to  which  she  is  a 
victim,  attacks  which  you  have  called  forth.  You  per- 
haps, are  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  they  have  tried  to 
embitter  her  against  you,  assuring  her  that  you  did  not 
speak  of  her  with  all  the  consideration  that  she  deserves." 

"It  isn't  true,"  I  answered,  "and  I  hoped  that  Mme. 
Rachel  had  not  believed  such  malignant  insinuations,  any 
more  than  I  did,  though  several  unkind  remarks  which 
she  had  made  about  me  were  repeated  to  me.  I  went 
to  hear  her  in  "Les  Horaces,"  and  did  not  try  to  conceal 
the  enthusiasm  that  she  awakened  in  me.  I  asked  some 
common  friends  to  assure  her  of  my  admiration,  and  my 
great  desire  to  meet  her  personally,  but  all  the  attempts 
that  have  been  made  to  bring  us  together  have  been  of 
no  avail!      ...     So  let  us  speak  no  more  about  it." 

"  And  if  I  were  to  tell  you,  my  dear  lady,  that  Rachel 
expressed  her  desire  to  meet  you?" 

"  If  such  is  the  case,  let  her  come  to  me  and  she  will  be 
received  as  a  person  so  celebrated  as  she  should  be." 


DEBUT  BEFORE  THE  PARISIANS  35 

But  noticing  that  my  reply  did  not  meet  with  the 
approval  of  Mme.  Ode,  and  that  she  was  trying  to  make  me 
understand  that  it  was  for  me  to  take  the  first  step,  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  answer  her:  "  I  do  not  think  it  is  my 
part  to  make  the  effort  made  by  my  friends  at  my  request, 
when  I  first  came  to  Paris,  and  was  eagerly  desirous  of 
meeting  her.  I  repeat  to  you,  let  us  not  say  anything 
more  about  it." 

"  But  if  Mme.  Rachel  should  offer  you  a  box  for  her 
play,  would  you  accept  it?  " 

"  I  would  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  would  break 
any  other  previous  engagement,  rather  than  deprive  my- 
self of  such  a  joy," 

In  fact,  the  following  day  I  received  a  letter  enclosing 
an  order  for  a  box  at  the  Comédie  Frangaise,  and  a  card 
reading  :  "  To  Madame  Ristori  from  her  fellow-tragedienne 
Rachel,"  a  card  which  I  still  jealously  preserve. 

On  the  appointed  night,  I  was  seated  in  my  box  when 
the  performance  was  about  to  begin.  They  were  playing 
"Phaedra."  My  desire  to  see  Rachel  in  that  masterpiece 
of  Racine  was  indescribable,  especially  as  that  was  one 
of  the  roles  of  my  repertory,  and  one  which  had  necessi- 
tated my  most  serious  study.  Although  I  had  noticed 
that  the  spectators  kept  their  eyes  upon  me,  it  was  not 
on  that  account  that  my  applause  was  lavished  upon 
Rachel.  I  found,  her  person  very  stately;  her  first 
entrance  on  the  stage  magnificent.  However,  the  pros- 
tration which  she  showed  seemed  to  me  quite  excessive, 
and  moreover,  she  neglected  to  portray  clearly  that  this 
prostration  was  only  due  to  moral  languour,  which  dis- 
appears when  its  intensity  is  removed,  and  allows  the 
body  to  resume  its  vigour. 

Entirely  majestic  and  marvellous  the  scene  of  the 
second  act,  with  Hyppolitus,  where  Rachel,  as  Phaedra 
reveals  her  passion  to  him.  .  .  .  but  in  that  situation, 
though  contrary  to  her  custom,  she  exaggerated  perhaps 
the  impetus  of  too  expressive  realism.  In  the  fourth  act, 
Rachel  was  purely  sublime,  and  the  admiration  and 
irresistible  emotion  she  excited  in  me,  were  so  great  that 
I  felt  truly  moved.  I  only  regret  that  I  had  to  express 
my  enthusiasm  simply  in  applause! 


36  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

When  the  curtain  fell,  with  my  heart  overflowing  with 
artistic  sentiment,  I  wrote  a  few  lines  upon  one  of  my 
visiting  cards,  which  I  had  sent  to  Rachel  in  her  dressing- 
room!  After  that  I  had  no  further  relations  with  her. 
The  reader  will  see  later  on,  what  conception  I  myself 
formed  regarding  the  interpretation  of  that  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FAREWELL    TO    PARIS — THE    SIX     FRANCS    OF    ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS — READY  WIT  UPON  THE  STAGE SHAKESPEARE's 

DRAMAS — AN  UNFORTUNATE  ACCIDENT  WHICH  HAP- 
PENED TO  ME  IN  NAPLES — I  OBTAIN  THE  PARDON  FOR  A 
MAN  SENTENCED  TO  DEATH,  IN  SPAIN — TOUCHING 
GRATEFULNESS  OF  THE  UNFORTUNATE   MAN 

At  the  end  of  my  stay  in  Paris,  I  had  received  several 
proposals  to  devote  myself  entirely  to  the  French  theatre. 
No  one  could  have  prevailed  upon  me  to  renounce  play- 
ing in  Italian.  I  always  expressed  my  absolute  refusal, 
alleging  as  a  pretext,  the  great  difficulty  of  acquiring 
perfection  in  the  French  accent.  It  was  then  that 
Minister  Fould  insisted  upon  my  accepting  the  proposition, 
in  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  offering  me  a  year  in  Paris 
at  the  expense  of  State,  in  order  that  I  might  overcome 
this  difficulty  under  the  direction  of  distinguished  pro- 
fessors, and  afterw^ard  fill  the  place  left  vacant  by  Rachel, 
at  the  Comédie  Frangaise,  which  she  was  soon  to  leave. 
I  stuck  to  my  refusal,  not  without  thanking  the  Minister 
for  the  honourable  offer,  and  adding  that  a  great  artist, 
could  not  renounce  the  applauses  of  the  Parisians,  who 
in  their  turn,  could  not  renounce  their  admiration  for 
their  favourite  actress.  However,  my  refusal  did  not 
anger  the  Minister  at  all,  for  with  much  good  grace,  he 
granted  me  the  favour  I  asked  him,  and  that  was  to  allow 
me  for  three  consecutive  years,  the  use  of  the  "Salle 
Ventadour,"  in  order  to  produce  there,  a  series  of  Italian 
dramatic  performances. 

In  this  way,  not  only  had  I  the  great  satisfaction  of 
having  reached  the  object  upon  which  I  had  fixed  my 
mind,  that  is,  appreciation  of  the  Italian  art  by  other 
nations,  but  I  also  opened  up  a  new  source  of  profits  for 
the  numerous  Italian  artists  in  both  Europe  and  America, 
and  thus  brought  honour  to  our  country. 

37 


38  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

It  was  with  great  regret  that  I  left  Paris  where  I  had 
had  the  opportunity  to  meet  and  associate  with  the  most 
distinguished  members  of  French  society,  and  with  all 
the  lights  of  that  great  world  of  letters  and  arts.  I 
carried  away  with  me  the  dearest  remembrance  of  Lam- 
artine,  Georges  Sand,  Guizot,  Mignet,  Henry  Martin,  Ary 
SchefTer,  Halévy,  Janin,  Legouvé,  Scribe,  Théophile 
Gautier,  Regine,  Samson,  Mile.  Georges,  Mme.  Allan, 
Mmes.  Madeleine  and  Augustine  Brohan,  and  many 
others  the  mention  of  whose  names  would  take  too 
long. 

I  had  to  say  goodbye  to  all  of  these  people,  had  to  take 
leave  of  that  excellent  Alexandre  Dumas,  who  came 
almost  daily  to  our  home,  bringing  with  him  his  inex- 
haustible wit.  How  many  pleasant  hours  we  spent 
together! 

How  delightful  it  was  to  hear  him  talk  with  his  pro- 
lific and  prodigious  vivacity!  He  told  tales  of  travelling, 
intimate  anecdotes  of  his  private  life,  pages  that  he  had 
torn  from  the  memories  which  he  scattered  through  his 
books.  We  gazed  at  him  in  admiration,  while  listening 
to  him,  and  we  took  good  care  not  to  interrupt.  I  seem 
to  hear  him  even  now,  relating  that  one  evening  when 
coming  out  from  a  perfoiTnance  of  "  Myrrha,"  and  walking 
with  measured  steps  through  the  Passage  Choiseuil, 
(he  was  then  in  the  first  stages  of  his  enthusiasm  over  me) 
he  met  an  intimate  friend  of  his — 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it?  "  asked  Dumas. 

"About  what?" 

"About  Mme.  Ristori!  Didn't  you  come  out  of  the 
theatre?" 

"I  never  have  heard  her." 

"Aren't  you  ashamed?  and  you  dare  to  exist?"  And 
thus  crushing  his  friend  with  an  avalanche  of  caprice,  he 
brusquely  left  him  there,  saying:  "I  will  never  look  at 
you  again  until  you  have  seen  that  woman  !  '  ' 

Some  days  later  when  he  again  met  the  same  friend, 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Berlin,  he  smiled  being  still 
filled  with  the  same  idea. 

"Well,  in  what  performance  have  you  heard  her?" 

"Oh,  leave  me  alone!  One  does  not  always  have  six 


ALEXANDRE  DUMAS,  Pere 
The  great  French  romantic  novelist.    (1802-1870) 


ill 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  39 

francs  in  one's  pocket,  and  I  am  not  reduced  as  yet  to  the 
state  of  being  a  'claquer.'  " 

"  Do  you  want  six  francs?  Here  they  are;  and  you  will 
applaud  freely." 

As  the  friend  was  walking  away  hurriedly  and  bored, 
Dumas  placed  the  little  sum  of  six  francs  upon  the  edge 
of  the  sidewalk  near  the  curb  crying:  "  If  you  don't  want 
them  the  first  poor  fellow  who  sees  them  will  get  them," 
and  turned  around  the  comer.  But  after  walking  a  few 
steps,  the  friend  stopped  and  said  to  himself:  "After  all, 
six  francs  are  not  a  fortune!  ...  I  can  soon  return 
them  to  him;  while  if  left  there,  anyone  who  sees  them 
will  say:  as  some  imbecile  has  placed  them  there,  I  will 
take  them!  ..."  And  after  this  logical  reflection, 
he  turned  resolutely  around.  ...  To  his  great 
surprise,  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Dumas,  who  had,  on  his  side  made  the 
same  reflection.  .  .  .  Seeing  each  other,  they  both 
broke  into  a  hearty  laugh  and  the  stubborn  friend  prom- 
ised that  he  would  go  to  hear  me  play. 

In  telling  us  this  funny  adventure.  Dumas  himself 
laughed,  and  promised  to  write  it  later  on  and  call  it: 
"  The  Two  Millionaires." 

One  day  Dumas  declared  that  he  would  challenge  any 
Italian  cook  to  prepare  macaroni  in  the  Neapolitan  style, 
better  than  himself.  Owing  to  our  exclamation  of 
incredulity,  he  proposed  to  prove  it  the  next  day.  We 
were  stopping  then  at  the  "Hotel  de  Bade,"  Boulevard 
des  Italiens.  The  preparations  made  by  the  chef  of  the 
hotel,  were  known  to  all.  The  windows  were  filled  with 
guests  and  other  curious  people  who  had  come  to  see  the 
celebrated  author  of  the  "Three  Guardsmen,"  with  the 
white  cap  over  his  curly  hair,  and  regulation  white  jacket 
and  apron,  holding  a  frying  pan  in  his  hand,  forgetting 
the  literary  triumphs  he  had  reaped,  amid  the  cares  which 
encompassed  him  in  the  cooking  of  a  dish  of  macaroni  ! 

With  this  jolly  reminiscence,  I  close  the  narrative  of  our 
first  trip  to  Paris. 

Feeling  both  sad  and  triumphant  I  left  Paris,  after 
having  received  there,  what  I  may  call  "  the  baptism  of 
fame!"  The  French  people  had  demonstrated  to  me  that 


40  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

for  them  there  exists  no  limit  in  art.  I  shall  always  hold 
in  the  depth  of  my  heart  a  sense  of  profound  "gratitude  for 
the  generous  reception  which  they  gave  to  a  foreigner. 

Our  company  went  afterward  to  Belgium,  not  without 
having  given  a  few  performances  during  a  long  trip  in  the 
North  of  France.  At  last,  we  went  to  Dresden  and  to 
Berlin  receiving  everywhere  the  most  flattering  reception. 

The  following  November,  I  returned  to  my  dear  country 
to  end  my  engagement  with  the  Sardinian  Company, 
giving  performances  both  in  Milan  and  in  Turin.  Having 
been  asked  to  go  to  Vienna  to  play  at  the  Karttheater, 
an  old  Imperial  theatre — I  first  made  short  stays  at 
Verona,  Udine  and  Trieste.  Seeing  me  again,  the  Italian 
public  scarcely  knew  how  to  show  its  gratefulness  to  me 
for  having  succeeded  in  causing  Italian  art  to  be 
appreciated   in   foreign   countries. 

I  presented  myself  for  the  first  time  on  the  14th  of 
February  1856  at  the  Austrian  capital  with  a  company 
managed  and  directed  by  myself.  My  debut  was  made 
in  "Myrrha"  of  Altieri.  A  more  enthusiastic  reception 
than  the  one  which  met  me  from  the  Viennese  audience, 
I  could  not  have  hoped  for.  For  all  of  my  performances, 
the  house  was  jammed  with  spectators,  and  some  mem- 
bers of  the  Court  always  honoured  me  with  their  presence. 
I  experienced  a  most  touching  emotion  at  the  first  per- 
formance of  "Mary  Stuart,"  as  I  knew  to  what  lofty 
comparisons  I  should  be  subjected  and  also  what  enormous 
publicity  and  importance  had  been  given  to  that  pro- 
duction. My  nerves  were  shaken  and  a  sort  of  agitation 
took  possession  of  me. 

At  last,  at  the  usual  hour,  I  arrive  at  the  theatre,  I 
enter  my  dressing-room,  in  full  possession  of  all  my  wits, 
and,  with  an  ill-concealed  nervousness,  I  prepare  to  dress. 
The  excessive  heat  of  the  stoves,  of  which  there  were  a 
great  number  in  the  theatre,  begin  to  annoy  me — to 
make  the  blood  rise  to  the  head,  and  to  inflame  my  vocal 
organs.  I  feel  as  if  my  heart  will  burst,  and  fear  some 
serious  consequence.  Little  by  little  my  voice  grows  hoarse 
— in  time,  it  totally  disappears.  .  .  .  Without  re- 
flecting, while  my  maid  and  the  property-man  hurry  to 
find  the  doctor  of  the  theatre,  I  throw  open  the  window 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  41 

looking  over  an  empty  lot  in  the  city,  and,  without  mind- 
ing the  intense  cold  of  the  season — it  was  the  17th  of 
February — and  neglecting  the  sad  consequences  which 
might  result  from  such  imprudence,  I  open  the  vest  I 
have  on,  and  expose  my  chest  to  the  freezing  temperature. 
If  a  reaction  can  be  produced  it  may  restore  my  voice 
and  thus  enable  me  to  play  the  tragedy. 

The  doctor,  surprising  me  in  that  attitude,  believed 
that  I  had  lost  my  senses! — "  My  voice.  Doctor,  my  voice, 
for  pity  sake!"  He  answered  that  if  I  had  the  courage 
to  gargle  my  throat  with  a  strong  remedy,  which  he  gave 
in  similar  cases  to  famous  singers,  perhaps  I  could  use 
my  voice  sufficiently  to  play  and  would  not  have  to  send 
the  audience  home. 

"Give  me  poison,  if  necessary;  if  only  I  can  play!" 
If  that  remedy  was  not  poison  it  was  bitter  enough  to 
have  been. 

I  did  not  recover  my  voice  entirely,  but  after  a  warning 
to  the  audience  to  be  indulgent,  I  was  able  to  play  "  Mary 
Stuart,"  and  with  an  unhoped-for  success. 

This  anecdote  may  prove  how  strong  was  my  sense 
of  duty.  I  cannot  describe  how  the  audience  frightened 
me!  Since  my  youth  respect  and  fear  for  the  public  had 
been  inculcated  in  me,  so  that  I  accustomed  myself  never 
to  give  in;  and,  for  that  very  reason,  I  made  a  special 
study  of  being  ready  to  substitute  immediately,  with 
other  words,  those  which  another  actor  might  forget,  so 
that  the  performance  would  not  appear  poorly  prepared. 

One  evening  when  I  had  to  put  into  practice  this  maxim, 
was  when  I  was  playing  "  Judith,"  a  biblical  tragedy  which 
had  been  written  expressly  for  me  by  Paolo  Giacometti. 

In  the  culminating  situation  of  the  play,  after  Holo- 
fernes's  head  has  been  cut  off,  his  favourite  slave,  Arzaele, 
discovers  the  murder  of  her  lover,  throws  herself  furiously 
upon  me,  while  I  seize  the  head  and  fling  her  to  the  ground, 
ending  the  scene  with  a  great  effect.  Suddenly  I  was 
informed  from  behind  the  wings,  that  the  actress  who 
was  going  to  play  the  part  of  Arzaele,  had  been  taken 
with  an  attack  of  convulsions  and  that  she  was  unable 
to  appear.  Immediately  I  turned  to  some  of  the  other 
actresses  :  "  One  of  you  put  on  the  dress  of  Arzaele,  place 


42  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

a  veil  over  your  head,  and  run  to  me."  My  order  was 
executed  with  striking  rapidity — notwithstanding  that 
the  poor  girl  who  was  substituting  did  not  know  her  part! 
I  did  not  lose  my  wits — with  dexterity  I  drew  her  to  me 
.  .  .  as  if  she  were  trying  to  kill  me  and  found  a  way 
for  her  little  dialogue  between  us — May  the  Lord  forgive 
me  for  such  lines!  The  audience  did  not  notice  anything 
and  the  result  was  splendid. 

Once  when  I  was  playing  "Medea"  I  had  to  put  to  use 
my  familiarity  with  the  stage.  Whenever  in  a  foreign 
city  I  had  to  give  a  single  performance,  I  always  chose 
this  tragedy  of  Legouvé.  As  we  had  only  one  child  in 
our  company,  and  two  are  needed  in  playing  "Medea," 
the  property-man  or  the  leading  man  had  to  provide  the 
other  child,  who  did  not  have  to  speak.  I  was  often 
obliged  between  the  acts  to  instruct  the  latter  about  his 
gestures. 

Once  it  happened  that  one  of  these  children,  not  being 
accustomed  to  the  stage,  became  frightened  when  I  ap- 
peared from  the  mountain.  Hearing  the  outburst  of 
applause  with  which  I  was  received,  seeing  for  the  first 
time  the  footlights  and  all  the  crowd  in  the  theatre,  he 
began  to  whine,  to  move  and  try  to  free  himself  from  my 
arms!  What  force  I  had  to  make  without  losing  control 
of  myself,  or  falling  from  the  mountain  to  begin  my  part 
endeavouring  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  little  fellow 
understand  and  be  quiet  as  he  had  nothing  to  fear!  Often, 
either  the  mother,  the  sister  or  the  father  of  one  of  these 
little  fellows  would  be  forced  to  remain  in  the  wings  and 
make  signs  or  talk  to  him  in  a  loud  tone  in  order  to  quiet 
and  assure  him  that  there  wasn't  any  danger. 

One  evening  I  had  a  most  unpleasant  experience  at 
the  end  of  the  tragedy.  At  the  crucial  point,  when  I  see 
myself  attacked  by  the  Corinthians,  I  run  in  despair 
across  the  stage,  dragging  my  two  children  from  one  side 
to  another,  mingling  my  cries  with  those  of  the  people 
pursuing  me.  At  last,  not  finding  any  other  escape,  I 
hasten  to  the  steps  of  the  altar  of  Saturn  where  I  throw 
the  two  children,  pretending  to  kill  them,  then  covering 
them  with  my  body,  I  remain  motionless!  The  super- 
numerary  child  began   to  scream  and  run  away  to  the 


alph(jnse  de  lamartine 

A  renowned  French  lyric  poet  (17QO-1868).  Great  admirer  of  Madame 
Ristori's  dramatic  art.  In  1855  he  composed  a  poem  dedicated  to  Madame 
Ristori  callino;  her  "  La  Gioire  et  L'Immortalile" 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  43 

wings,  without  my  being  able  to  hold  him  back!  And 
the  audience  should  have  supposed  him  dead!  .  .  . 
Although  the  audience  was  impressed  with  this  remark- 
able tragic  scene,  it  would  not  refrain  from  laughing  at 
the  sight  of  that  little  dead  body  running  away. 

In  the  month  of  April  1856  I  returned  to  Paris,  as  had 
been  arranged  the  previous  year  with  Monsieur  Legouvé. 
We  immediately  started  our  preparations  to  produce 
"Medea."  In  the  analytic  study  of  this  play,  which  is 
one  among  the  six  that  I  had  selected  from  my  repertoire, 
the  reader  will  find  a  narrative  of  the  most  minute, 
interesting  and  curious  circumstances  relative  to  this 
drama,  be  it  as  far  as  concerning  my  part,  the  mis-en- 
scene,  and  regarding  the  tremendous  success  which  it 
met  the  evening  of  April  8  th. 

From  Paris  we  moved  to  London.  On  the  4th  of  June, 
my  first  performance  of  "Medea"  was  given  at  the 
Lyceum  Theatre. 

The  English  public  was  already  favourably  impressed 
by  the  French,  German  and  Belgian  papers,  and  I  was 
received  with  immense  enthusiasm.  My  audiences  were 
very  large,  favouring  me  with  the  most  flattering  demon- 
stration of  affection  and  esteem. 

Several  among  the  English  literary  people  reproached 
me  for  not  including  "Macbeth"  in  my  repertoire,  the 
master  work,  according  to  my  opinion,  of  the  immortal 
Shakespeare.  I  gave  as  an  excuse,  that  a  foreign  company 
could  not  very  well  produce  such  a  play,  for  lack  of  the 
necessary  scenery  and  of  the  indispensable  number  of 
artists  for  such  a  play.  They  told  me  that  in  England 
they  would  cut  down  many  parts  and  adapt  the  pro- 
duction not  only  to  the  ability  and  number  of  players 
of  the  different  companies,  but  also  to  the  taste  and 
requirements  of  the  public,  which  had  not  always  a  right 
conception  of  the  times,  places  and  conditions  under 
which  the  Shakespearean  theatre  had  its  growth. 

"That  I  should  cripple  Shakespeare  and  commit  such 
a  sacrilege!  It  was  impossible!  We  Italians,  never  would 
dare  to  mutilate  our  classics;  think  if  I  should  dare  to 
mutilate  the  work  of  your  great  poet.     ...      "  They 


44  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

replied  that  they  did  it  without  any  scruple  and  with  the 
intention  of  rendering  it  comprehensible  to  all.  To 
speak  truly,  their  logic  was  not  far  wrong,  but  that  was 
not  sufficient  to  convince  me.  Then  they  proposed  to 
assume  themselves  all  responsibility,  and  sure  enough, 
upon  my  return  to  London,  in  the  month  of  June,  1857,  we 
began  to  rehearse  "  Macbeth,"  at  Covent  Garden.  It  had 
been  arranged  for  our  company  by  Mr.  Clarke,  and  trans- 
lated into  most  beautiful  Italian  verse  by  Giulio  Carcano. 
The  renowned  Mr.  Harris  put  it  on  the  stage  according 
to  English  traditions.  The  representation  of  the  part  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  which  afterw^ard  became  one  of  my 
favourite  roles,  preoccupied  me  greatly,  as  I  knew  only 
too  well  what  kind  of  comparisons  would  be  made.  The 
remembrance  of  the  marvellous  creation  of  that  character 
as  given  by  the  famous  Mrs.  Siddons  and  the  traditional 
criticisms  of  the  press,  might  have  rendered  the  public 
very  severe  and  difficult  to  please. 

I  used  all  my  ability  of  interpretation  to  reveal  and 
transmit  the  most  minute  intentions  of  the  author.  To 
the  English  audience,  it  seemed  that  I  had  really  in- 
carnated that  perfidious  but  great  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  in  a  way  that  surpassed  all  expectations. 

We  had  to  repeat  the  drama  for  several  evenings,  always 
producing  a  most  profound  impression  upon  the  minds 
of  the  audience,  particiilarly  in  the  grand  sleep-walking 
scene.  So  thoroughly  had  I  entered  into  the  nature  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  that  during  the  entire  scene  my  pupils 
were  motionless  in  their  orbit,  causing  me  to  shed  tears. 
To  this  enforced  immobility  of  the  eye,  I  owe  the  weaken- 
ing of  my  eyesight.  From  the  analytical  study  which 
I  shall  give  of  this  diabolical  character,  the  reader  can 
form  for  himself  an  idea  of  how  much  its  interpretation 
cost  me  (particularly  in  the  final  culminating  scene),  in 
my  endeavour  to  get  the  right  intonation  of  the  voice 
and  the  true  expression  of  the  physiognomy. 

On  November  the  7th  I  went  to  Warsaw.  I  can  easily 
afifirm  that  my  performances  in  that  city  resulted  very 
successfully,  but  I  must  admit  that  such  results  were 
facilitated  by  the  sympathy  of  the  elegant  and  kind  ladies 
of    Polish   societv.       There   I    was    favoured   also    with 


^^' 

^ 

J 

J 

THÉOPHILE  GAUTIER 
A  noted  French  novelist  and  poet  (1811-1872).     In  one  of  his  "  Revues 
Dramatiques"  in  the  "Moniteur"  he  wrote:    "  Le  genre  humain  ne  peut  que 
gagner  a  entendre  la  Ristori     ..." 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  45 

delicate  attentions  from  the  Governor,  from  the  Prince 
Gorgiakoff,  as  well  as  from  the  Princess,  his  wife.  Such 
kind  manifestations  encouraged  me  to  return  there 
in  1858. 

At  the  beginning  of  1857  I  visited,  for  the  first  time,  the 
beautiful  city  of  Naples,  where  on  the  evening  of  June 
14th,  at  the  Regio  Teatro  del  Fondo,  I  began  with 
"Medea,"  a  short  series  of  my  performances. 

What  an  enthusiastic  public  I  found!  Little  by  little  as 
there  was  established  between  us  a  kind  of  magnetic 
current,  I  was  transported  with  delight  at  their  admiration. 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  I  received  from  the 
rigorous  Bourbons,  the  permission  to  perform  "Phaedra" 
by  Racine.  I  held  it  as  certain,  that  in  spite  of  the  many 
mutilations,  the  many  beautiful  things  of  the  drama  must 
produce  a  vivid  impression.  The  result  could  not  have 
been  more  satisfactory.  During  my  short  season  of 
fifteen  performances,  I  was  compelled  to  repeat  "Phae- 
dra" five  times,  a  thing  that  happened  very  seldom  at 
that  time.  The  last  performance  was  given  for  my 
special  benefit.  Several  days  ahead  all  the  seats  had  been 
sold.  A  large  part  of  the  ladies  of  the  best  society,  had, 
owing  to  the  lack  of  boxes,  secured  orchestra  chairs;  a 
thing  which  is  not  very  customary  for  ladies  to  do  in 
Italy.  A  "cantata"  composed  for  the  occasion  had  been 
prepared  in  my  honour.  The  theatre  was  like  a  garden, 
such  was  the  abundance  of  flowers,  which  were  sent  to 
me,  and  what  an  inspiration  it  gave  to  my  artistic  tem- 
perament! .  .  .  However,  this  splendid  remembrance 
was  associated  with  a  most  unfortunate  incident. 

During  the  great  scene  of  the  fourth  act,  when,  owing 
to  jealous  rage,  Phaedra  breaks  into  such  a  pitch  of 
delirium,  I  had  so  thoroughly  entered  the  part,  just  there, 
that  instead  of  moving  backward  while  saying:  "among 
martyrs  my  soul  expires,"  I  advanced  toward  the  foot- 
lights and  fell  over!  A  loud  shout  came  from  the  audience! 
A  young  gentleman  who  was  occupying  a  seat  very  near 
the  stage,  noticing  that  the  actress  playing  the  part  of 
(Enone  was  remaining  stupidly  motionless  with  fright, 
rose  from  his  seat  and  pushed  me  backward,  thus  saving 
me  from  a  great  danger.     He  could  not,  however,  prevent 


46  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

my  being  badly  hurt  from  that  fall.  One  of  the  glass 
globes  of  the  footlights,  which  broke  under  the  weight  of 
my  right  arm,  caused  a  deep  wound.  This  unfortunate 
incident  makes  me  think  of  an  old  Italian  adage  that: 
"All  that  comes  to  harm  does  not  happen  to  hurt,"  for 
if  the  Neapolitan  Government  had  not  had  the  strange 
idea  of  enforcing  the  use  of  oil  in  the  place  of  gas,  (*) 
fearing  political  attempts  at  mischief,  my  accident  would 
have  been  much  more  severe. 

The  stage  was  soon  invaded  by  a  crowd  of  people 
anxious  to  know  how  badly  I  was  hurt.  Among  the 
first  who  came  to  me,  was  the  Count  of  Siracusa,  brother 
of  King  Ferdinand,  who  had  with  him  the  Court  physician. 
When  my  wound  was  dressed,  those  around  me  said,  that 
I  was  the  victim  of  this  deplorable  accident  owing  to  the 
presence  in  the  audience  of  a  well-known  jettatore  (a  man 
with  the  evil  eye) .  The  Count  of  Siracusa,  who  was  fully 
convinced  of  the  fact,  took  from  his  watch-chain  a  fal- 
con's claw  set  in  gold,  and  offered  it  to  me  saying:  "I 
have  killed  this  beast  myself,  carry  this  with  you  as  a 
charm  against  all  the  jettatore  of  the  future."  And 
I  always  carry  this  remembrance  with  me. 

The  audience  left  the  theatre,  the  victims  of  the  most 
vivid  emotion. 

I  was  taken  to  the  hotel,  and  for  two  long  months  I  had 
to  carry  my  arm  in  a  sling.  This  did  not  prevent  me, 
however,  owing  to  certain  engagements  I  had  made, 
from  playing  though  I  had  to  take  care  to  moderate  the 
movements  of  my  arm.  The  ill-fated  accident  left  a  wide 
scar. 

I  went  to  Madrid,  in  Spain,  the  same  year,  giving  a 
series  of  performances  at  the  theatre  called  "  Zarzuela." 

On  the  1 6th  of  September  I  commenced  my  season  with 
"Medea."  Owing  to  the  natural  enthusiasm  of  the 
Madrilenians,  I  obtained  all  that  an  actress  may  aspire  to. 
The  house  was  always  crowded.  Queen  Isabelle,  a  woman 
gifted  with  true  artistic  sentiment,  always  attended 
my  performances,  sat  in  her  royal  box,  did  not  miss  a 

♦The  Neapolitan  Government,  in  consequence  of  an  explosion 
which  had  happened  on  a  war  vessel,  had  suppressed  the  use  of  gas  in 
all  public  buildings. 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  47 

gesture,  nor  a  glance  of  the  actors  and  broke  on  every 
occasion,  into  enthusiastic  exclamations. 

A  few  evenings  later  when  I  was  obliged  to  repeat 
"Medea,"  a  most  touching  incident  happened  to  me, 
and  the  remembrance  of  it  I  have  carried  in  my  mind 
and  in  my  heart. 

I  went  to  the  theatre  at  the  usual  hour.  In  front  of  the 
dressing-rooms  there  was  a  nice  reception  hall.  While 
my  maid  was  getting  my  wardrobe  ready,  a  most  inter- 
esting conversation  was  started  between  the  other  actors 
and  myself  about  the  magnificent  and  interesting  his- 
torical wonders  we  had  seen  during  the  few  days  of  our 
sojourn  in  Madrid  and  about  the  traditions  and  customs 
of  that  proud  country,  which  astonish  so  much  anyone 
who  visits  it  for  the  first  time. 

"  By  the  way"  I  said,  "what  was  the  meaning  of  that 
ringing  of  a  bell  through  the  streets  to-day,  by  a  man 
belonging  to  some  religious  fraternity?"  I  was  answered 
that  it  was  in  order  to  collect  some  alms  for  the  suffering 
soul  of  a  man  sentenced  to  death,  by  name  Nicolas 
Chapado.  The  unfortunate  fellow  was  a  soldier,  who,  in 
an  impulse  of  wrath,  had  drawn  his  sword  against  his 
sergeant,  who  had  struck  him.  Furthermore,  I  learned 
that  his  sister  who  was  ignorant  of  the  affair  happened  to 
be  in  the  street  and  seeing  the  member  of  the  Fraternity 
of  Saint  John  the  Baptist  gathering  up  alms,  she  asked 
for  the  name  of  the  poor  fellow  condemned  to  be  shot  the 
next  day.  "  Nicolas  Chapado,"  she  was  told.  Hearing 
that  name  she  fell,  as  if  dead,  to  the  ground.  That  story 
filled  me  with  the  greatest  sadness. 

"My  Lord!"  I  exclaimed,  "while  we  are  here  standing 
filled  with  merriment,  triumphing  and  receiving  applause, 
that  unfortunate  fellow  counts  the  minutes  which  still 
remain  for  him  on  earth!"  With  my  heart  full  of  pity  I 
went  to  my  dressing-room.  Soon  after,  two  persons 
asked  to  speak  to  me.  "  The  lady  is  dressing,"  they  were 
told.  Seeing  that  it  was  useless  to  insist,  they  told  my 
husband  the  motive  which  brought  them  there.  It  was 
regarding  that  unhappy  fellow  Chapado,  whom  they 
were  trying  to  save. 

My  husband  moved  to  pity,  came  to  me  and  without 


48  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

any  preamble  said  :  "  You  know  that  a  man  is  sentenced 
to  death  and  must  be  shot  in  the  morning?  "  "  I  know  it," 
I  replied.  "  Well,  they  tell  me  that  his  life  lies  in  your 
hands,  and  that  if  you  wish  it,  he  will  be  pardoned!" 
.  .  .  At  these  words,  I  turned  pale  and  a  cold  sweat 
broke  out  all  over  me.  "Know,"  he  added,  "that  a 
deputation  came  a  few  moments  ago  to  tell  me  so;  they 
will  soon  be  back  for  the  answer.  The  poor  soldier  is  a 
splendid  young  man,  he  has  a  fine  record  of  eleven  years  of 
military  life.  He  is  the  victim  of  an  impulse  of  anger,  as 
the  sergeant  hated  him  and  struck  him  unjustly  in  the 
presence  of  his  companions.  Chapado  did  nothing  more 
than  to  place  his  hand  on  the  guard  of  his  sword  and 
that  was  enough  to  cause  him  to  be  condemned  to  death. 
The  life  of  that  man  depends  upon  the  Queen.  They 
tell  me  that  she  loves  you  very  much,  and  if  you  ask  her 
for  a  pardon,  she  will  not  deny  you."  "But  the  Queen 
will  think  me  foolish,"  I  answered,  frightened.  "What 
am  I,  beside  all  those  who  have  already  uselessly  asked 
her?  My  solicitation  will  be  of  no  avail!  I  shall  never 
dare!  .  .  .  "In  the  meanwhile  the  deputation 
came  back,  repeating  to  me  what  I  already  knew.  I  trem- 
bled! ...  I  could  not  speak,  so  great  was  my 
trepidation.  However,  I  promised  to  do  my  best.  But 
immediately  I  stumbled  against  a  great  difficulty.  Gen- 
eral Narvaez,  Duke  of  Valencia  and  President  of  the 
Ministr>^  was  generally  feared  owing  to  his  excessive 
severity  ;  this  explained  the  request  that  I  should  make  a 
direct  attempt,  unknown  to  him,  to  the  Queen.  "  I  can 
never  do  that"  I  answered  them.  I  was  recommended 
to  the  General  and  found  in  him  a  frank,  loyal,  amiable 
and  distinguished  gentleman;  so  it  was  to  him  first  that 
I  should  make  my  request.  The  right  road  was  always 
my  choice  for  my  action. 

"  But  you  are  going  to  lose  that  poor  man,"  they  said 
to  me.  "Is  he  not  already  lost?"  I  answered,  "nothing 
worse  can  happen  to  him.  Let  me  be."  These  people 
shrugged  their  shoulders  and,  shaking  their  heads,  took 
leave  of  me,  convinced  in  advance  of  my  failure. 

Most  happily  the  President  of  the  Ministry  was  at  the 
theatre.     I  asked  if  he  would  kindly  come  to  see  me  for  a 


Hn^raved  by  Inipleniercier  &  Co.,  Paris 


MADAME  DUPIN  (GEORGES  SAND) 
One  of  the  greatest  French  novelists  of  her  sex  of  the  XIX  Century. 
She  felt  a  great  fascination  toward  Madame  Ristori's  art  and  in  some  of 
her  writings  called  her  "  F"emme  Divine!  " 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  49 

moment.  The  Duke  of  Valencia,  courteous  as  ever, 
hastened  to  comply  with  my  request.  As  soon  as  I  found 
myself  alone  with  him,  I  invited  him  to  sit  down.  The 
Duke  was  struck  by  my  looks  and  voice  which  betrayed 
the  emotion  that  had  taken  possession  of  me. 

"  General,  you  have  told  me  once,  that  you  would  not 
refuse  any  request  of  mine  owing  to  the  esteem  with 
which  you  were  pleased  to  honour  me.  Encouraged  by 
that  I  ask  for  the  pardon  of  the  poor  soldier!  I  am  a 
stranger  here,  and  have  been  only  a  short  time  in  Madrid 
but  owing  to  the  interest  of  all  the  citizens  and  to  my 
feeling  for  the  young  man,  I  am  ready  to  argue  that  he 
deserves  to  live.  It  was  suggested  that  I  go  direct  to 
the  Queen,  without  consulting  you,  but  I  am  convinced 
that  you,  the  first  one  whom  I  approach,  will  give  me  your 
merciful  support,  so  that  my  words  may  the  more  easily 
reach  the  heart  of  her  Majesty.  I  am  aware  of  the  great 
esteem  which  she  has  for  you  and  of  the  faith  she  has 
placed  in  you,  owing  to  your  faithfulness  to  her  person, 
and  to  the  value  of  your  counsel,  which  has  saved  the 
country   from   many   dangers." 

"My  good  lady,"  answered  the  Duke,  "it  is  impos- 
sible. ...  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  necessary  to  make  an 
example.  The  revolutions  begin  almost  always  with  the 
army  ;  not  long  ago,  we  had  some  similar  cases  .  .  . 
we  used  clemency,  you  see  the  result.  It  is  necessary 
to  make  an  example!  The  whole  Municipality  just  called 
on  the  Queen  to  ask  for  mercy,  and  I  have  advised  her 
not  to  yield,  not  to  allow  herself  to  be  moved.  After 
this,  how  could  I  advise  you  differently?  " 

I  did  not  lose  courage,  I  persisted  in  my  entreaties  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  which  makes  one  eloquent.  Finally 
I  was  able  to  move  the  Duke.  "Ah,  my  lady!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "I  yield  to  your  prayer!  .  .  ,  Listen  to  me. 
I  will  have  somebody  ask  her  Majesty  to  grant  you  an 
audience,  which  she  will  do  immediately.  You  will  be 
received  between  the  acts.     Throw  yourself  at  her  knees 

.  .  .  speak  in  the  cause  of  the  unfortunate  young 
man  with  the  same  emphasis  you  just  used  with  me. 
Supplicate  the  Queen.  She  loves  you  very  much,  but 
she  will  be  perplexed  and  will  answer  that  the  Minister 


so  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

of  the  Council  would  be  opposed  to  it,  send  for  me  then, 
I  shall  come  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  hope.  I  can  say- 
nothing  more!" 

Emotion  which  was  almost  choking  me,  prevented  my 
replying  to  these  words.  I  grasped  his  hand  with  trans- 
port and  followed  his  advice. 

As  soon  as  the  General  had  left,  they  all  crowded  around 
me  with  pressing  questions.  What  has  he  said?  Does 
he  consent?  Has  he  refused?  "Silence,  for  mercy's 
sake,  leave  me,  I  cannot  say  anything  .  .  .  wait 
.     .     .     wait!" 

After  the  first  act  the  Queen  granted  me  the  audience 
that  I  had  requested,  and  escorted  by  one  of  my  man- 
agers. Signor  Barbieri,  a  distinguished  musician,  I  as- 
cended the  royal  box.  I  was  asked  to  wait  a  few  minutes 
in  the  adjoining  room.  All  of  a  sudden  we  heard  con- 
fused voices,  some  one  crying  and  people  running.  I 
learned  later  that  an  enemy  of  Nar\'aez,  a  member  of 
the  Court,  had  tried  in  order  to  antagonise  the  Duke, 
to  brusquely  introduce  the  sister  of  poor  Chapado  into 
the  royal  box,  but  owing  to  the  arrival  of  Narvaez  him- 
self, the  attempt  had  failed.  Meanwhile,  the  Queen, 
agitated  by  the  cries  she  had  heard,  began  to  feel  faint, 
since  she  was  about  to  become  a  mother.  Alfonso 
XII.  was  bom  only  a  month  later.  As  soon  as  she 
recovered,  she  asked  to  have  me  shown  in.  I  was  soon 
ushered  into  her  presence,  the  good  Queen  asked  to  be 
excused  for  having  kept  me  waiting,  and  for  her  emotion. 
All  the  ministers  surrounded  her.  Without  losing  any 
time,  I  threw  myself  at  her  knees,  I  kissed  the  hand  she 
had  extended  to  me  and  exclaimed:  "Your  Majesty, 
I  ask  mercy  for  Chapado!  Be  moved  by  our  prayers.  He 
has  erred,  it  is  true,  but  in  this  one  instance  deign  to  judge 
kindly  this  unfortunate  man.  He  acted  after  a  bloody 
assault,  unjustly  made  upon  him  in  the  presence  of  his 
companions.  Grant  life  to  a  devout  subject,  who  is 
brave  and  ready  to  shed  his  blood  for  his  queen!  If  my 
humble  merits  have  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  win 
Your  Majesty's  sympathy,  grant  me  the  pardon  which 
I  beg  with  pleading  hands!" 

The  Queen,  much  moved,  replied  :  "  Be  calm,  Madame, 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  51 

I  would  like  to,  but  the  President  of  the  Ministry  assures 
me.  ...  "I  interrupted  her,  saying:  "If  Your 
Majesty  will  deign  to  express  to  him  the  impulses  of  your 
generous  heart,  he  is  human,  and  certainly  will  not  have 
the  courage  to  oppose  your  wish."  At  that  moment, 
Narvaez  stepped  for^vard  and  bowed  his  head  in  assent. 
Then  the  Queen  grasping  my  hands,  lifted  me  up.  "  Well, 
my  lady,  yes.     .     .     .     We  pardon  him!" 

Hearing  the  noise  made  by  the  audience,  which  was 
anxious  to  have  the  performance  resumed,  and  with  my 
heart  full  with  joy,  I  took  leave  of  her  Majesty. 

"What  different  kind  of  tragedies  are  played  to-night! 
At  last  there  is  one  with  a  happy  ending,"  she  said  to  me; 
then  ordering  a  pen  brought  to  her,  she  signed  the  pardon. 
One  of  the  adjutants  ran  with  it  to  the  condemned  man. 

The  crowd  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
the  news  having  been  spread  of  my  audience  with  the 
Queen.  I  did  not  walk  down  the  stairs,  I  flew,  crying: 
"The  pardon  is  granted!  .  .  .  the  pardon  is 
granted!      ...      " 

Upon  my  reappearance,  a  storm  of  applause  broke 
forth  !  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience,  the  name  of  the 
Queen  was  mingled  with  mine.  By  gestures  I  tried  to 
indicate  that  to  her  Majesty  the  thanks  were  due  ;  while 
she,  always  thoughtful  of  me,  cried:  "No,  no,  it  is  to 
her,  it  is  to  her!      ..." 

I  owe  to  the  Queen  one  of  the  most  memorable  nights 
of  my  existence.  The  pen  which  signed  the  pardon  for 
the  brave  and  honest  young  man,  and  which  was  later 
given  to  me,  will  be  to  my  children  a  holy  remembrance 
of  a  great  joy  experienced  by  their  mother! 

But  though  the  life  of  the  soldier  was  spared,  still,  in 
order  not  to  deviate  from  the  military  laws,  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  life  imprisonment  in  one  of  the  prisons  of  Alcala. 
The  task  though  hard  seemed  nothing  in  the  face  of  a 
life  saved!  I  begged  a  commutation  of  the  sentence,  and 
it  was  reduced  to  six  years. 

In  one  of  my  trips  to  Madrid,  I  expressed  my  wish  to 
know  the  unfortunate  fellow.  The  letters  that  he  had 
written  me,  without  ever  having  seen  me,  showed  him  to 
be  a  good-hearted  man,  with  a  keen  sense  of  honour,  and 


52  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

of  the  most  sincere  gratitude.  I  asked  for  permission  to 
go  and  see  him  in  his  prison,  which  was  not  far  from 
Madrid;  and  the  Governor  granted  it  to  me. 

On  reaching  the  place  with  my  husband,  an  old 
friend  of  ours  and  I,  were  shown  into  the  receiving-room 
of  the  prison.  Nicolas  Chapado  was  soon  brought  to  me. 
He  was  clad  in  a  convict's  suit,  and  came  in  with  his 
head  bowed  and  holding  his  cap  convulsively  in  his  hands. 
He  threw  himself  at  my  feet,  kissing  my  clothes  in  his  joy, 
though  his  emotion  prevented  his  saying  a  word. 

Ever}'one  was  moved.  I  could  not  repeat  what  senti- 
ments of  gratitude  he  at  last  expressed  to  me,  or  how 
deeply  I  appreciated  his  thankfulness!  ...  I 
learned,  later  on,  that  owing  to  his  irreproachable  con- 
duct, he  had  secured  the  good-will  both  of  his  guardians 
and  of  his  fellow-prisoners,  and  that  he  had  been  pro- 
moted to  the  grade  of  watchman  in  some  workshop. 
They  all  loved  him  and  obeyed  him,  and  the  sergeant 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  his  misfortune,  having  fallen 
seriously  ill,  had  when  at  the  point  of  death,  asked  to 
see  him  and  had  besought  his  pardon  for  the  harm  he  had 
unjustly  done  him.  This  Chapado  did  not  hesitate  for 
a  moment  to  grant.  Before  I  left  I  promised  to  use  all 
my  influence  to  obtain  his  complete  pardon. 

As  soon  as  the  news  of  my  visit  was  known  in  the  prison, 
everyone  wished  to  see  me,  and  as  I  came  down  the  large 
stairway,  with  the  warden  at  one  side  and  Chapado  at 
the  other,  all  the  convicts  kneeled  down  respectfully, 
uncovering  their  heads.  I  cannot  tell  the  extent  of  my 
emotion,  or  how,  upon  beholding  that  touching  picture, 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears! 

Later  I  obtained  the  release  of  Chapado,  and  every 
time  I  was  in  Madrid,  he  ran  to  see  me,  and  whenever  I 
furnished  him  with  the  means  to  come  and  hear  me  in 
some  of  my  plays,  he  proved  a  most  enthusiastic  ap- 
plauder.  I  was  told,  between  the  acts,  and  in  consequence 
of  some  outbursts  of  applause  in  the  audience,  that  when 
they  implored  him  to  be  quiet,  he  insisted  upon  relating 
to  his  neighbours  his  lugubrious  story.  He  told  it  also 
to  those  who  did  not  care  to  hear  it.  "  But  do  you  not 
remember  that  I  was    in    the  'ardent  chapel'  with  the 


FIRST  TOUR  THROUGH  EUROPE  53 

spiritual  confessor  beside  me,  begging  me  to  recommend 
my  soul  to  God!  ...  It  was  she  who  implored  and 
obtained  my  pardon  from  the  Queen  Isabelle!  ...  I 
love  her  as  a  mother.  ...  I  could  die  for  her! 
.  .  .  "  And  he  would  conclude  these  impetuous  out- 
bursts by  crying  as  loud  as  he  could:  " Long  live  Ristori! 
.  .  .  .  Long  live  Ristori!  .  .  .  long  live  the 
Queen!  .  .  .  "  at  the  risk  of  being  taken  for  a  lunatic! 
And  what  letters  he  would  write,  when  I  was  away,  all 
filled  with  kind,  poetic  and  almost  Oriental  thoughts.  He 
called  me:     "  Mi  madre  querida!"  My  darling  mother! 


CHAPTER  V 

A  MISTAKE  OF  THE  POLICE  CONCERNING  A  TELEGRAM — 
MY  PROFESSIONAL  TOUR  THROUGH  HOLLAND — THE 
WHISKERS  OF  THE  STUDENTS  OF  COIMBRA — MY  FIRST 
PERFORMANCE   IN   FRENCH — IN   RUSSIA 

After  having  again  visited  Vienna,  Buda -Pest  and  Italy 
during  the  month  of  April  of  the  same  year,  I  returned  to 
Paris.  Every  time  I  had  to  make  a  new  appearance  be- 
fore the  Parisians — such  a  pleasant  and  congenial  public — 
I  endeavoured  to  prepare  some  new  play  which  should 
interest  the  habitues  of  my  dear  theatre  Ventadour. 

The  preceding  year  my  friend  Montanelli,  a  man  of 
superior  culture,  who  owing  to  the  strenuous  part  he  had 
taken  in  our  political  movements,  was  patiently  dragging 
along  his  life  in  exile,  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  for 
me  a  drama  in  three  acts.  He  took  his  inspiration  from 
a  very  tragic  argument  from  Plutarch,  called  "Camma." 
Camma  was  a  priestess  of  Diana,  renowned  for  her  rare 
beauty.  As  the  reader  knows,  her  husband,  Sinatus  was 
treacherously  murdered  by  Synorus,  Prince  of  Galitia, 
in  order  that  he  might  marry  the  widow,  of  whom  he  was 
madly  enamoured. 

Camma,  discovering  that  Synorus  is  the  murderer  of 
her  husband  pretends  to  yield  to  his  wishes  and  leads 
him  to  the  temple  for  the  celebration  of  their  nuptials. 
The  rite  is  to  be  solemnised  by  both  drinking,  one  after 
the  other,  from  the  same  cup. 

Camma  being  a  priestess,  the  high  priest  proposes  that 
she  prepare  the  nuptial  cup.  She,  taking  advantage  of 
her  privilege,  puts  poison  in  it.  The  first  to  bring  the 
cup  to  his  lips  is  the  ill-fated  Synorus,  w^ho  is  im- 
mediately taken  with  agonising  pain,  and  dies  soon 
after,  but  not  until  Camma  has  revealed  to  him  her 
premeditated  vengeance.  Despising  life,  Camma  also 
drinks     the    poisoned    cup,    and     dies     happy    in    the 

54 


PECULIAR  EXPERIENCES  55 

certainty    that    she    will    be    reunited    in    Elysium,    to 
her  beloved   Sinatus. 

Regarding  this  tragic  end  I  must  tell  of  a  comic 
incident.  In  preparing  the  tragedy  Signor  Montanelli 
used  to  send  to  me,  by  instalments,  the  parts  already 
written  in  order  to  have  my  judgment  and  approval,  I 
found  the  death  scene  of  Camma,  my  part — was  too  long 
as  it  caused  me  to  talk  too  much.  Filled  with  this  idea, 
I  wished  to  communicate  it  to  my  friend  as  quickly  as 
possible  and  in  great  haste  telegraphed  him  as  follows: 

"  You  forgot  that  I  am  anxious  to  die,  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  corpse  of  the  victim,  with  whom  I  have  shared  the  poison, 
I  can  not  speak  eternally." 

One  can  readily  imagine  how  a  telegram  like  this, 
addressed  to  a  person  well  known  to  be  prominently  iden- 
tified with  the  political  events  of  the  time,  surprised  and 
aroused  the  suspicion  of  the  clerk  of  the  telegraph-office. 
He  hurried  to  transmit  the  telegram  to  the  chief  of 
police,  and  played  a  most  ridiculous  part  afterwards 
when  the  matter  was  explained. 

On  the  evening  of  April  23,  1857,  the  first  performance 
of  the  tragedy  took  place,  achieving  a  splendid  success. 

In  the  year  1858,  I  signed  a  contract  with  the  principal 
theatres  of  Holland.  My  first  performance  was  given  in 
Amsterdam. 

Remembering  that  the  Dutch  bore  the  reputation  of 
being  a  phlegmatic  people,  not  easy  to  enthuse,  I  antici- 
pated merely  a  respectful  reception,  nothing  more.  What 
then  was  my  amazement  on  seeing  my  audience  light  up 
and  become  as  demonstrative  as  a  Southern  people!  My 
astonishment  had  no  bounds,  when  later,  I  learned  that 
the  citizens  were  organising  for  one  of  my  free  nights,  a 
great  public  demonstration,  which,  the  papers  were 
already  announcing,  was  to  take  the  form  of  a  festival 
tribute  to  dramatic  art. 

More  than  twenty  thousand  people,  of  all  classes, 
besides  a  large  number  of  working  corporations,  artistic 
societies,  university  clubs,  all  preceded  by  their  respective 
flags  and  musical  bands,  took  part  in  the  demonstra- 
tion. At  nine  o'clock  on  the  appointed  night,  under  my 
windows,  the  huge  procession  began  to  march  cheering 


56  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

enthusiastically.  The  scene  was  lighted  by  thousands  of 
torches,  and  fire  works,  intermingling  the  Italian  and 
Dutch  colours,  made  a  brilliant  effect.  It  looked  like 
a  bit  of  fairyland! 

Unfortunately  the  crowding  of  such  immense  numbers 
had  its  disagreeable  consequences!  Many  were  pre- 
cipated  into  the  canals,  suffering  nothing  worse,  however, 
than  an  enforced  cold  bath.  Such  a  spectacle  can  more 
readily  be  imagined  than  described.  To  give  you  an  idea 
of  its  imposing  character,  I  was  informed  that  the  king 
had  referred  to  it  in  the  following  terms:  "It  was  not 
enough  for  a  revolution,  but  too  much  for  a  demon- 
stration!" 

Leaving  Amsterdam  I  completed  the  tour  of  this  com- 
mercial country  of  Holland,  visiting  its  principal  towns 
and  being  ever^nvhere  honoured  with  the  most  cordial 
and  flattering  receptions. 

When  at  The  Hague,  I  was  made  the  object  of  the  most 
grateful  attentions  by  Queen  Sophia,  a  cultured  wor- 
shipper of  the  fine  arts.  She  gave  repeated  proofs  of  warm 
interest  in  me  every  time  we  met  and  her  manifestations 
of  kindness  to  me  continued  as  long  as  she  lived.  His 
Majesty  the  King,  also  often  honoured  me  with  his 
presence  at  the  theatre,  and  the  last  time  I  had  the  honour 
of  meeting  him  at  Wiesbaden,  it  was  his  pleasure  to 
confer  upon  me  the  Order  of  Golden  Medal,  an  Order 
instituted  in  Holland  for  the  purpose  of  ennobling  the 
disciples  of  the  fine  arts  cults.  It  is,  therefore,  not  to  be 
wondered  at  if  I  accepted  with  the  greatest  joy,  the 
invitation  to  visit  that  country  again.  I  returned  the 
following  year  my  mind  still  filled  with  sweet  remem- 
brances of  the  events  I  have  briefly  narrated  above. 

I  shall  not  repeat  myself  by  describing  this  second  visit, 
but  I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  another  demon- 
stration with  which  I  was  greeted,  because  of  its  unique 
and  striking  character.  Let  me  call  your  attention  to 
the  fact  that  this  period  of  my  professional  career,  was 
coincident  with  the  warlike  feats  with  which  Italy  was 
then  astonishing  the  world. 

When  I  reached  the  city  of  Utrecht,  the  young  students 
of  the   University,  rejoicing  in  the  marvellous  prestige 


PECULIAR  EXPERIENCES  57 

gained  by  King  Victor  Emanuel  II.  and  Garibaldi,  wished 
to  receive  me,  an  Italian  artist,  with  the  same  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  were  exulting  in  the  triumphant 
development  of  our  national  struggle  for  independence. 
It  was,  therefore,  the  whole  population — the  intelligent 
learned  youth  of  the  renowned  University  of  Utrecht — 
that  I  found  at  the  station  waiting  to  receive  me.  It 
was  an  impressive  occasion,  and  I  still  recall  the  pleasure 
I  experienced,  as  I  realised  that  such  a  flattering  reception 
was  meant  rather  as  homage  to  Italy  than  to  my 
personality. 

The  procession  started  from  the  station.  The  car- 
riage, drawn  by  four  horses,  in  which  I  was  seated  with 
the  rest  of  my  family,  was  preceded  by  an  advance- 
guard  of  men  on  horseback,  composed  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished students  of  the  University.  Other  members 
of  my  escort,  rode  alongside  and  behind  my  carriage. 
In  this  manner  I  drove  through  the  principal  streets  of 
the  city,  which  were  crowded  with  spectators,  on  my  way 
to  the  hotel. 

I  gave  a  performance  that  same  night  and  it  is  super- 
fluous to  tell  how  warmly  I  was  greeted.  After  the  per- 
formance, I  was  honoured  with  a  torch-light  serenade, 
which  is  so  picturesque  in  Northern  countries.  In 
commemoration  of  this  event  a  beautiful  engraving  was 
made,  of  which  I  was  presented  with  the  first  copy. 

During  the  first  part  of  October,  1859, 1  went  to  Port- 
ugal, where,  between  the  cities  of  Lisbon  and  Oporto,  I 
gave  a  series  of  twenty-four  performances. 

I  cannot  put  into  words  the  impression  made  upon  me 
by  the  majestic  and  beautiful  panorama  of  Lisbon  and 
the  imposing  shores  of  the  river  Tagus,  seen  from  the 
ocean,  nor  can  I  describe  the  scene.  It  would  take  a 
mightier  pen  than  mine  to  do  it  justice.  My  professional 
success  here  was  but  a  repetition  of  the  honours  I  had 
received  in  other  countries. 

What  a  lover  of  art  was  King  Ferdinand  with  all  the 
actors!  He  showed  his  love  of  it  by  every  possible  mani- 
festation of  kindness  to  me.  I  still  preserve  a  sketch 
that  he  drew  for  me  in  my  album.  On  every  succeeding 
visit  to  Lisbon,  I  received  the  high  consideration  of  the 


58  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

King  and  a  greater  measure  of  kindness  from  its  people. 
Even  in  1878,  when  I  again  visited  the  capital  of  Portu- 
gal I  always  found  a  most  appreciative  audience.  From 
the  royal  family,  of  which  the  Queen  Pia  of  Savoy,  is 
such  a  great  ornament,  I  received  the  highest  expressions 
of  esteem. 

While  speaking  of  Portugal,  I  cannot  pass  unnoticed  a 
play  I  produced  in  the  month  of  February  of  i860,  in  the 
town  of  Coimbra,  and  of  which  I  have  the  most  amusing 
recollections. 

As  is  well  known,  the  principal  university  of  Portugal 
is  in  Coimbra.  In  the  Athenaeum  of  the  University, 
there  is  a  very  pretty  theatre-hall  suited  to  the 
requirements  of  the  students.  On  some  occasions 
when  the  artists  of  a  dramatic  company  have  met  with 
the  favour  of  the  public  at  Lisbon,  they  have 
been  asked  to  stop  at  Coimbra  and  perform  in  this  thea- 
tre. The  Board  of  the  University,  begged  me  to  recite 
"Medea."  I  consented  with  pleasure.  It  was  my  de- 
sire to  make  an  experiment  on  a  public,  with  whose  main 
characteristic  I  had  been  struck  so  forcibly  the  previous 
year,  when  going  through  Coimbra.  The  picturesque- 
ness  of  the  students'  uniform  made  an  impression  upon 
me.  They  wore  a  garment  somewhat  like  a  priest's 
cassock  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  short  knee  breeches, 
a  wide  collar,  a  cap  à  la  Dante,  and  a  large  black  cloak 
covered  the  entire  body,  making  their  dark  complexions 
and  strongly  marked  features  more  striking.  Their  long 
beards,  almost  always  black,  contributed  to  give  a  stronger 
effect  to  their  big  black  eyes.* 

As  I  mentioned  above,  I  was  to  play  "Medea,"  the 
production  of  which  offered  some  scenic  difficulties.  One 
of  the  fundamental  rules  of  the  University  forbade  the 
employment  of  women  as  supernumeraries.     How  then 


*  This  costvime,  almost  mediaeval  in  its  quaintness,  awakened  my 
curiosity  as  to  its  origin.  I  learned  that  King  Don  Diniz,  in  the  year 
1288,  founded  in  Lisbon  a  school  for  the  "General  Study  of  Sciences." 
This  school  was  composed  of  branches  of  fine  arts,  of  canonic  right,  of 
civil  right  and  also  of  medicine.  In  1290  Pope  Nicholas  IV.,  consolidated 
the  school.  In  1306  the  king  transferred  it  to  Coimbra  and  constituted 
it  a  university  similar  to  those  then  existing  all  through  the  cultured 
parts  of  Europe. 


PECULIAR  EXPERIENCES  59 

were  we  to  represent  the  scenes  in  which  the  "Canephores"' 
women  are  to  appear!  Here  the  students  proposed  a  plan 
worthy  of  their  lively  imagination.  They  volunteered 
to  disguise  themselves  as  girls.  Though  the  proposition 
seemed  somewhat  strange,  considering  the  whiskers  of 
the  students  which  they  would  not  be  allowed  to  shave 
off,  still  I  had  to  accept  it,  recommending  them,  however 
to  cover  their  faces  in  the  best  possible  manner,  with  a 
thick  veil. 

On  entering  the  theatre  to  get  ready  for  the  play,  I 
was  received  by  the  professors  of  the  university,  who 
had  kindly  improvised  for  me  a  dressing-room,  which 
was  elegantly  furnished  and  supplied  with  all  that  was 
necessary. 

Now  we  come  to  the  performance.  The  hall  was 
crowded.  The  most  fashionable  ladies  of  the  place  filled 
the  boxes.  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  uneasy,  fearing  that 
at  the  most  dramatic  point,  the  tragedy  might  turn  into 
a  farce!  Fortunately  that  did  not  happen,  though  at 
one  moment  I  thought  that  my  apprehensions  would  be 
justified.  In  order  to  accustom  myself  to  the  appearance 
of  such  original  "Canephores,"  I  had  taken  the  precaution, 
before  beginning  the  play,  to  look  at  them  closely,  but  I 
could  not  foresee  what  happened  afterwards.  During 
the  most  important  scene  between  Medea  and  Creusa 
in  the  first  act,  I  chanced  to  turn  my  eyes  to  a  box  on  the 
proscenium.  .  .  .  What  did  I  see?  .  .  .  theCane- 
phore  girls,  who  a  short  time  before  had  appeared  on  the 
stage  wearing  white  veils  and  wreaths  of  roses,  and  whom 
Creusa  had  sent  to  pray  in  the  temple  of  Diana  :  smoking 
with  the  greatest  nonchalance  long  Havana  cigars! 
Though  accustomed  to  comic  scenes  on  the  stage,  yet  at 
the  sight  of  that  ridiculous  group  of  masquerading 
students,  I  had  a  very  hard  struggle  to  keep  myself  from 
exploding  with  laughter.  However,  I  mastered  myself, 
and  as  soon  as  I  left  the  stage  I  sent  a  hurried  message  to 
those  new-style  Canephores  requesting  them  to  keep  to  the 
rear  of  the  box. 

From  Portugal,  by  way  of  the  sea  and  through  Bel- 
gium, I  returned  to  France,  stopping  however,  a  few  days 
in  Hanover,  where  I  gave  two  performances. 


6o  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

The  whole  royal  family  lavished  upon  me  protestations 
of  the  most  devoted  friendship.  King  George  was  an 
interesting  person  not  only  because  of  the  cruel  infirmity 
which  he  had  so  heroically  borne  since  the  age  of  sixteen, 
but  also  because  he  was  still  a  brilliant  talker,  and  not 
at  all  blind  concerning  dramatic  art.  The  cheerful 
affability  with  which  I  was  received  by  the  royal  family, 
over  whom  a  loving  mother  presided,  is  among  my 
dearest  recollections. 

From  Hanover  I  went  to  Paris.  This  was  in  the  month 
of  April,  i860.  On  the  first  night  of  the  21st,  the  annual 
performance  at  the  Comédie  Frangaise  was  about  to  be 
given  as  a  special  benefit  for  the  grand-niece  of  Racine, 
Mademoiselle  Trochu.  For  the  occasion,  the  members 
desired  to  get  up  a  programme  composed  of  different 
features. 

For  this  reason  my  good  friend  Monsieur  Legouvé 
asked  my  cooperation.  He  suggested  that  I  not  only 
give  the  fourth  act  of  "Phaedra,"  but  that  I  also  recite 
in  French  a  poem  of  his  own  composition.  The  reader 
will  easily  understand,  that  I  was  most  willing  to  give 
my  support  to  the  benefit  by  playing  in  Italian.  I  was 
rather  reluctant  to  consent  to  recite  a  French  poem,  in 
consideration  of  the  great  difficulty  to  me  of  the  pro- 
nunciation of  French,  and  the  diffidence  I  should  feel 
in  reciting  it  before  a  critical  and  cultured  audience  like 
that  of  the  Comédie  Frangaise.  Besides,  I  knew  that 
during  the  recitation  I  would  be  surrounded  by  the 
greater  number  of  actors  belonging  to  the  Comédie.  The 
thought  frightened  me.  However,  Legouvé  insisted 
and  ended  by  persuading  me  to  consent  to  recite  his  verses, 
which  he  promised  he  would  teach  me  to  give  with  a 
perfect  pronunciation  before  the  evening  of  the 
performance. 

I  still  hear  the  exultant  cry  of  Legouvé  when  I  yielded 
to  his  entreaties  ''La  patrie  est  sauvée!  La  patrie  est 
sativée!"  (The  country  is  saved!)  a  cry  which  brought 
out  from  the  adjoining  room  my  friends  who  were  awaiting 
the  result  of  our  conversation.  Won  to  his  wishes  by 
the  encouragements  of  the  poet,  I  began  seriously  to 
study  his  poem.     "  Audaces  fortuita  jurat." 


PECULIAR  EXPERIENCES  6i 

My  bold  attempt  met  with  a  happy  result.  The 
audience  received  me  as  a  favourite  daughter  of  the  house 
of  Molière.  But  what  went  to  my  heart  and  touched  me 
even  deeper  than  the  acclamations  of  the  audience,  were 
the  warm  approbations  of  my  fellow  artists  of  the  evening  ! 

Here  is  the  programme: 

"  'Atalia' 

Fourth  act  of  'Phaedra,'  played  by  Mme  Ristori. 
A  homage  to  Racine.     Lines  of  Monsieur  Legouvé, 
recited  by  Mme.  Ristori. 
'Les  Plaideurs'." 

It  was  owing  to  that  happy  result,  that  another  far 
more  important  request  was  submitted  to  me.  It  was 
not  now  a  matter  of  my  temporary  assistance.  Le- 
gouvé had  not  yet  relinquished  his  fixed  idea  to  have 
me  play  in  French.  A  man  of  great  resources,  he  put  to 
task  all  his  powers  of  persuasion  to  win  me  to  his  pur- 
pose. He  made  capital  particularly  of  my  professed 
gratitude  to  the  French  nation,  to  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
III.  and  to  the  heroic  army,  which  returning  victorious  from 
the  battle-fields  of  Magenta  and  Solferino,  had  made  its 
triumphal  entry  into  Paris.  Many  times,  indeed,  I  had 
expressed  the  desire  to  be  able  to  satisfy  my  debt  of 
gratitude  to  the  French  people,  whose  approval  and 
applause,  had  opened  to  me  the  doors  of  all  the  European 
theatres — "Here  is  the  opportunity" — Legouvé  would 
say  to  me,  "  the  effort  that  I  ask  you  to  make  will  be  the 
true  evidence  of  your  sentiments."  The  pleader  won 
his  cause;  but  while  yielding  to  his  eloquence,  I  was  not 
unmindful  that,  in  doing  so  I  should  also  gratify  the 
Parisians  who  were  eager  to  see  me  undertake  the  diffi- 
cult task  of  playing  in  their  own  language. 

Having  thus  conquered  all  my  hesitations,  I  agreed  to 
undertake  the  learning  of  a  drama  in  four  acts  which 
Legouvé  was  writing  for  me,  and  in  which  a  happy  in- 
spiration decided  him  to  have  me  take  the  part  of  an 
Italian  woman,  whose  foreign  pronunciation  should  in 
no  way  mar  the  character. 

The  heroine  of  the  drama  is  a  young  actress  of  high 
reputation.  Having  been  invited  to  go  from  one  Court 
to  another  she  finally  meets  a  young  prince  who  falls 


62  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

madly  in  love  with  her,  and  in  spite  of  the  barriers 
opposed  by  his  high  position  and  rank  in  life,  wishes 
to  marry  her.  The  young  actress  understands  his  diffi- 
culties and  loves  him  in  secret.  However,  her  gratitude 
to  the  mother  of  the  young  prince,  whose  kindness  she 
has  often  experienced,  will  not  permit  her  to  be  the 
cause  of  trouble  in  the  family  all  of  whom  she  regards  as 
her  benefactors.  She  cannot  lie  by  denying  her  love 
for  the  prince,  and  not  having  the  strength  to  resist  his 
wooing,  she  secretly  quits  the  Court. 

It  was  an  actress  who  was  to  interpret  the  part  of  an 
actress,  the  enthusiasms,  the  abandons,  the  disillusions  of 
which  made  it  a  complication  of  difficulties  and  contrasts. 

I  was  ready  to  begin  my  study,  and  for  the  sake  of 
facilitating  the  carrying  out  of  our  plan,  Legouvé 
suggested  joining  me  later,  on  the  trip  I  was  about  to 
undertake  on  the  Rhine.  It  was  a  continual  rehearsing 
from  morning  to  night.  He  took  advantage  of  every 
available  moment  to  impress  my  part  on  me  and  help 
me  to  conquer  the  difficulties  of  the  French  pronunciation. 
He  tried  most  arduously  to  minimise  for  me  the  peculiar 
difficulty  of  enunciating  the  "rs,"  which  we  pronounce 
closed  in  Italian,  and  which  are  to  our  language  an  element 
of  expression  and  energy. 

By  the  end  of  our  trip,  my  study  of  my  part  was  com- 
pleted and  we  settled  on  the  following  month  of  March 
for  the  production  of  "Beatrix,"  which  was  to  be  given 
at  the  Odèon. 

Leaving  Paris,  I  betook  myself  to  Holland.  I  ran  up 
the  Rhine  through  Livonia  and  Courland. 

I  went  to  St.  Petersburg  in  the  month  of  December 
of  the  same  year,  and  returned  there  in  November,  1861. 
I  was  in  Moscow  in  the  February  of  1862. 

My  heart  is  filled  with  affectionate  recollections  of  my 
professional  tour  in  Russia.  The  remembrance  of  the 
warm  reception  of  the  people  of  that  country,  is  still 
vivid  in  my  mind.  Though  the  members  of  the  Court 
could  not  attend  the  theatre  owing  to  a  period  of  Court 
mourning,  the  Emperor  Alexander  II.  and  the  Empress 
wished  to  hear  me.  They  invited  me  to  attend  a  soirée 
at  the  Winter  Palace.     I  recited  before  them  the  third 


PECULIAR  EXPERIENCES  63 

act  of  "Mary  Stuart."  I  shall  never  forget  the  kind  re- 
ception they  gave  me.  But  I  formed  my  criterion  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  which  the  Northern  peoples  are  capable, 
by  my  reception  at  Moscow. 

It  is  true  that  in  the  old  Muscovite  capital  the  young 
element  prevails,  attracted  there  by  the  magnitude  of 
its  University.  Here  also,  as  in  Holland,  the  students 
distinguished  themselves,  but  by  a  different  form  of 
enthusiasm.  I  appreciate  highly  and  still  keep  as  an 
object  of  most  precious  ethical  value,  the  gift  they  gave 
me  in  the  shape  of  a  golden  bracelet,  in  which  is  set  an 
amethyst  symbolising  the  globe,  upon  which  hangs 
a  glittering  star  .  .  .  the  planet  of  art!  The  greater 
number  of  the  students  at  the  University  not  being  rich, 
this  evidence  of  their  appreciation  was  doubly  cherished 
by  me. 

On  the  morning  of  my  departure  from  Moscow  the 
students,  en  masse,  were  waiting  for  me  at  the  station. 
On  my  arrival,  they  crowded  around  me,  and  as  if  by 
enchantment,  I  was  carried  to  the  private  car  set  apart 
for  me.  The  members  of  my  family  joined  me  as  best 
they  could.  Up  to  the  moment  of  our  departure,  our 
car  was  transformed  into  an  autograph  delivery-wagon. 
Many  hundred  times  I  signed  my  name  on  flying  pieces 
of  paper,  in  note-books,  on  newspaper  clippings,  and 
other  scraps!  The  whistle  of  the  locomotive  at  last  blew 
the  starting  signal,  and  among  the  most  exuberant 
acclamations,  the  train  moved  out. 

Dear  remembrances!  I  wish  as  many  manifestations  of 
devotion  and  affection  and  equally  sweet  remembrances 
to  all  the  actresses  who  will  come  after  me! 

From  Moscow  I  travelled  directly  to  Paris,  there  to 
begin  my  rehearsals  of  "  Beatrix."  While  these  were 
progressing,  a  liking  for  my  part  grew  on  me.  I  felt  so 
profoundly  the  reality  of  the  character  which  had  been 
created  and  developed  under  my  eyes,  that  when  the 
day  of  the  first  performance  came,  the  25th  of  March 
1 86 1,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  only  to  play  one  of  my 
usual  parts,  and  I  was  not  troubled  as  to  what  the  public 
would  think.  An  instinctive  feeling  assured  me  that  it 
would  appreciate  my  daring  effort  and  accept  it  as  a 


64  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

tribute  of  gratitude  from  an  Italian  woman.  This  very 
thought  was  my  salvation;  in  fact,  I  felt  so  certain  of 
myself,  so  tranquil,  that  I  answered  with  a  laugh  the 
exhortations  of  my  fellow-  actors  to  take  courage.  .  .  . 
But  once  on  the  stage,  the  old  Italian  adage — "Altro 
é  parlar  di  morte,  altro  é  morirei  "  (How  different  it  is  to 
speak  of  death  than  it  is  to  die,)  came  to  my  mind  again. 

Though  I  was  generally  familiar  with  the  audiences 
of  the  principal  cities  of  Europe,  at  the  sight  of  such  a 
throng  of  people,  as  that  evening  crowded  the  Odèon, 
I  felt  frightened.  The  applause  with  which  I  was  greeted 
on  my  entrance,  far  from  encouraging  me,  produced  the 
contrary  effect,  making  me  comprehend  the  exacting 
expectations  of  the  audience. 

All  the  power  of  a  strong  wdll  was  none  too  much  to 
help  me  to  overcome  a  moment  of  hesitancy.  I  began 
to  act,  and  succeeded  first  in  conquering  myself  and  later 
the  public.  ...  I  repeated  the  performance  for 
forty  nights. 

As  a  last  word  concerning  the  drama  "  Beatrix,"  I  shall 
add  that  it  took  amazingly  well  in  all  the  provincial 
towns  in  France,  in  Holland,  and  in  other  countries. 

Some  later  years,  in  1865,  I  undertook  to  play  it  in 
Paris  again  for  twenty  consecutive  nights,  at  the  Theatre 
du  Vaudeville. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  GERMANY — AMONG  THE  RUINS  OF  THE  ACROPOLIS — A 
PERFORMANCE  WITH  BOTH  ERNESTO  ROSSI  AND  TOMMASO 
SALVINI — DETERMINATION  TO  KEEP  THE  ENGAGEMENTS 
I  HAD  MADE — CROSSING  A  BRIDGE — MY  FIRST  PRO- 
FESSIONAL TOUR  IN  AMERICA — A  NIGHT  IN  HAVANA 

I  MADE  a  second  trip  to  Beriin  during  the  month  of  March 
1862,  playing  there  for  seven  nights  at  the  Royal  Theatre. 
The  royal  family  honoured  me  with  kind  attentions, 
while  the  good  Emperor  William  I.,  who  was  then  King 
of  Prussia,  conferred  upon  me  the  cross  of  the  Order  of 
Civil  Merit. 

Afterward  I  was  asked  to  give  two  performances  at 
the  Ducal  Theatre  of  Weimar.  On  that  occasion  I  was 
the  object  of  a  great  many  courtesies  through  the  kindness 
of  the  duke  and  duchess  of  that  small  state. 

Attending  a  reception  at  Court,  I  had  an  opportunity 
to  appreciate  the  culture  of  the  prince.  He  knew  by 
heart  many  passages  of  Dante's  poem,  which  he  had 
partially  translated,  and  every  time  I  met  him,  I  could 
not  help  noticing  that  he  knew  our  language  very  well  and 
could  use  it  admirably. 

Among  my  remembrances  of  the  numerous  distinctions 
and  favours  conferred  on  me  by  the  Court  of  Berlin,  I 
cannot  forget  that  I  owe  to  the  Emperor  William,  the 
honour  of  having  met  the  great  composer  Meyerbeer,  and 
this  is  how  it  happened.  During  the  few  days  that  I 
remained  at  Weimar,  the  celebration  of  the  birthday  of 
King  William  took  place.  The  Duke,  as  the  reader  knows, 
is  the  brother  of  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  wife  of  the  present 
Emperor  of  Germany,  and  he  begged  of  me,  in  the  name 
of  the  Queen,  to  go  unknown  to  the  King  in  Berlin  and 
play  there  "I  Gelosi  Fortunati."  A  pretty  and  artistic 
little  theatre  was  secretly  fitted  up  for  the  occasion,  in 
one  of  the  halls  of  the  royal  palace.     The  King  was  very 

6s 


66  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

much  pleased  and  satisfied  by  the  unexpected  surprise 
prepared  for  him  by  his  wife,  the  Queen,  and  the  little 
play  was  received  in  a  very  flattering  manner. 

After  the  performance  a  supper  was  given.  Several 
tables  were  ser\'ed  in  the  hall.  It  was  at  this  supper 
that  the  King  presented  me  to  Meyerbeer,  whom  he 
asked  to  be  my  cavalier  for  the  remainder  of  the  night. 
It  did  not  take  the  celebrated  maestro  long  to  interest 
me  greatly  with  his  witty  conversation.  The  following 
day  he  came  with  his  two  daughters  to  visit  me,  and  we 
spent  a  most  agreeable  hour  speaking  of  art  and  of  Italy. 

During  the  balance  of  1862  and  up  to  September  1864 
I  visited  the  cities  and  the  countries  where  I  had  pre- 
viously been.  I  made  long  stays  at  home,  in  Italy,  and 
particularly  in  Sicily,  which  I  left  in  September  1864,  to 
go  to  Alexandria  in  Egypt. 

In  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs  I  realised  how  great  is  the 
power  exercised  by  dramatic  art  upon  different  natures. 

The  cosmopolitan  society  of  Alexandria  lavished  upon 
me,  especially  on  the  night  of  my  benefit,  the  most  flat- 
tering tributes  of  esteem  and  kindness.  Being  urged  by 
repeated  and  pressing  invitations,  I  went  to  Cairo  to  give 
a  performance,  at  a  theatre,  which  had  been  improvised 
and  put  up  in  a  few  days,  the  old  theatre  of  the  town 
having  recently  been  destroyed  by  fire. 

On  the  2d  of  December  I  left  for  Smyrna.  The  voyage 
to  that  place  was  a  very  unfortunate  one!  We  had  taken 
passage  upon  a  steamer  of  the  Austrian  Lloyd  Line, 
called  The  Empress.  Leaving  Alexandria  we  encoun- 
tered a  very  stormy  sea  and  when  passing  the  Colossus 
of  Rhodes,  the  boiler  exploded!  For  forty-eight  long 
hours  our  vessel  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves!  The  cap- 
tain and  the  officers,  did  their  best  under  the  circum- 
stances. Signals  for  help  were  vainly  repeated  every 
moment.  Our  sufferings  were  frightful.  It  seemed 
inevitable  that  we  should  all  be  submerged  by  the  heavily 
rolling  sea;  while  the  lamentations  of  the  women  and 
children,  combined  with  their  ferv^ent  prayers,  tore  our 
hearts!  But  at  length  owing  to  the  strenuous  efforts  of 
the  captain  and  the  crew,  the  damage  to  the  machinery 
was  repaired,  after  a  fashion,  and  we  were  able  to  go  back 


AMONG  CELEBRITIES  67 

to  Alexandria.  I  felt  terribly  prostrated  for  several 
days  afterwards.  Nevertheless,  I  soon  took  passage 
again,  on  another  steamer  of  the  same  line,  the  Arch- 
duchess Charlotte,  bound  for  Constantinople.  I  do  not 
exaggerate  when  I  say  that  I  had  a  moral  struggle 
with  myself  at  this  time,  in  order  to  make  the  sentiment 
of  duty  prevail  over  that  of  discouragement,  induced  by 
the  very  sad  and  depressing  physical  conditions  of  which 
I  was  a  victim.  However,  I  am  only  glad  to  be  able  to 
say  that  all  through  my  professional  career,  I  never  failed 
to  meet  the  obligations  I  had  contracted. 

On  the  way  to  Constantinople,  I  gave  a  performance  at 
Smyrna.  When  in  Constantinople,  owing  to  previously 
made  engagements  and  also  because  I  was  ardently 
desirous  of  making  a  stay  at  Athens,  I  gave  only  thirty 
performances.  But  although  my  season  in  the  old  city 
of  the  Byzantium  was  of  short  duration,  still  it  was 
filled  for  me  with  most  pleasant  memories  and  asso- 
ciations. 

I  arrived  at  Athens  on  the  19th  of  February,  1865.  I 
had  time  to  give  but  five  performances  there.  When 
once  I  set  foot  on  the  Piraeus,  I  could  hardly  wait 
until  I  visited  the  Acropolis.  I  did  satisfy  that  ardent 
desire  of  mine,  the  day  after  my  first  performance,  having 
for  my  guide  the  renowned  archaeologist  Rangabey,  now 
Minister  to  Berlin.  This  learned  guide  of  mine,  gradually 
reconstructed  before  my  mental  vision  the  world  of  ancient 
Greece  with  its  classic  treasures.  What  luck  was  it  for 
me  to  find  again  among  those  sublime  marbles  all  the 
noble  poses  that  I  had  endeavoured  to  reproduce  before 
my  audiences!  I  stood  ecstatic  before  so  many  marvels, 
contemplating  the  temple  of  the  Caryatides,  studying 
the  Greek  reliefs  in  order  to  reproduce,  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity in  my  costumes,  those  stupendous  folds.  Mr. 
Rangabey  had  almost  to  have  recourse  to  force,  in  order 
to  tear  me  away  from  admiring  that  wonderful 
relief  of  the  Victory  Actere,  the  most  minute  details  of 
which,  I  wanted  to  impress  on  my  memory. 

I  also  obtained  a  wonderful  impression  from  a  visit 
I  paid  to  the  Temple  of  Theseus  and  the  Theatre  of 
Bacchus. 


68  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

What  enchantment  it  was  for  me  to  gaze  on  that  shin- 
ing summit,  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  upon  the  tops 
of  the  imposing  mountains  of  Hymettus,  Pantelicus, 
and  Parnassus,  which  gird  the  Acropolis!  What  a 
panorama!  What  marvellous  effects!  What  emotions! 
How  many  sensations  I  experienced  on  finding  myself  in 
the  midst  of  those  ruins  that  speak  to  one  of  the  history 
of  so  many  centuries,  eloquent  witness  of  the  really 
beautiful,  of  which  Greece  was  the  teacher  of  Rome,  aye 
I  will  say,  even  of  the  whole  world!  How  I  would  have 
liked  to  prolong  my  soul's  enjoyment  of  that  sublime 
scene!  But  how  often  must  the  contemplation  of  art  be 
sacrificed  to  the  urgency  of  the  moment!  At  that  time 
precisely,  I  was  forced  to  experience  the  reality  of  this 
truth! 

A  former  engagement  which  I  had  not  been  able  to 
revoke,  prevented  me  from  responding  to  the  courteous 
advances  of  King  George,  and  accepting  one  of  his  most 
alluring  invitations.  His  Majesty  having  noticed  the 
enthusiastic  manifestations  of  his  people  for  the  love  of 
my  art,  conceived  the  idea  of  reviving  in  the  XIX  century, 
the  Greek  tragedy,  with  all  its  practices,  with  its  chorus, 
in  a  word,  in  its  entirety,  all  its  parts,  which  no  longer 
harmonise  with  the  corrupted  forms  of  the  modem  drama. 
It  was  his  desire  that  we  should  perform  a  tragedy,  hav- 
ing for  its  motif  a  Grecian  subject,  in  full  daylight,  inside 
of  the  Theatre  of  Bacchus,  where  all  Greece  would  come. 
That  classic  inclosure,  had  to  be  put  in  better  condition 
for  the  performance,  in  the  least  possible  time,  by  Grecian 
architects.  My  heart  was  jubilant  at  the  thought  that 
I  should  be  able,  in  the  very  land  of  Greece,  to  walk  upon 
the  stage  of  its  ancient  theatre,  and  go  back  for  a  moment, 
to  the  classicism  of  art,  of  Sophocles,  of  Euripides,  of 
^schylus,  and  to  rest  the  mind  within  the  majesty  of 
Olympus!  It  would  have  been  a  memorable  event! 
Let  the  reader  fancy  the  regret  I  experienced  in  having 
to  renounce  this  great  temptation  offered  to  me  by  his 
Majesty.  But  that  poetic  enchantment  had  to  vanish 
away  before  the  prosaic  lines  of  an  ill-fated  contract! 

Farewell  to  poetry!  Farewell  to  my  dear  public  of 
Athens!  Farewell  to  my  amiable  guide! 


?   2: 


z    2; 


AMONG  CELEBRITIES  69 

I  was  bound  to  go  to  Paris  and  play  in  French  at  the 
Theatre  Lyrique  a  drama  of  Legouvé's  called:  "Les 
Deux  Reines."  But  on  my  way,  getting  off  at  Messina, 
a  telegram  from  Legouvé  reached  me,  saying  that  owing 
to  some  political  complications  with  the  Holy  See,  Na- 
poleon III.,  had  forbidden  the  production  of  the  play! 

Fortunately  we  were  able  to  go  and  play  in  some  of  the 
theatres  of  Italy,  and  that,  with  great  satisfaction  to  me, 
as  the  longer  my  sojourn  in  foreign  countries  was  pro- 
longed, the  greater  was  my  desire  to  behold  again  my 
native  land.  It  was  with  much  pleasure  that  I  accepted 
the  proposition  of  filling  a  professional  tour  through 
Italy.  I  went  through  Naples,  Leghorn,  Florence, Milan 
and  Turin,  during  the  time  I  was  to  have  spent  in  Paris. 

I  returned  to  the  great  metropolis  of  the  French  at  the 
expiration  of  the  month  of  April  1865,  to  fill  an  engage- 
ment I  had  made  to  play  "  Beatrix"  again  at  the  Theatre 
du  Vaudeville. 

It  was  at  that  time  that  Florence  was  celebrating  the 
6th  centenary  of  Dante.  All  the  world  of  culture  had 
been  invited  to  honour  the  "Divine  Poet." 

The  Mayor  of  Florence  offered  me  great  inducements 
to  go  there  and  cooperate  with  Tommaso  Salvini  and 
Ernesto  Rossi,  in  giving  greater  impulse  to  the  national 
celebration. 

I  accepted  with  joy  the  flattering  invitation. 

To  be  able  to  associate  myself  with  those  two  giants  of 
the  dramatic  art,  was  for  me  a  most  fortunate  and  cher- 
ished opportunity.  It  was  owing  to  this,  for  me  happy 
association,  that  someone  originated  the  idea  that  we 
three  artists  should  play  together  at  the  theatre  of  "  Coco- 
mero," in  aid  of  some  charity,  in  a  drama  suited  to  our 
individual  temperaments  and  so  aptly  commemorating 
Dante's  conception  of  "Francesca  da  Rimini,"  drama- 
tised by  Silvio  Pellico. 

The  role  of  Paolo  was  interpreted  by  Ernesto  Rossi! 
Salvini  took  the  one  of  Lanciotto,  which  he  rendered 
an  unexpected  creation;  I  played  Francesca. 

Each  one  of  us  acted  our  best,  displaying  passion  and 
ardour.  New  effects  were  produced  as  by  enchantment! 
Ernesto  Rossi  proved  himself  a  member  of  that  school 


70  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

which  has  no  masters,  so  to  speak,  but  which  finds  its 
inspiration  in  the  impulse  of  a  superior  genius.  He 
never  could  have  been  a  celebrity,  had  he  not  displayed 
a  distinctive  temperament  and  a  most  powerful  talent. 

The  performance  was  solemn  in  its  character,  and  in 
order  to  commemorate  the  event,  a  memorial  tablet  was 
placed  in  the  foyer  of  the  theatre. 

This  was  a  memorial  to  which  I  am  pleased  to  have 
contributed  and  I  have  wished  to  mention  it  in  these 
pages  as  a  tribute  of  homage  and  affection  to  my  illustrious 
companions,  Salvini  and  Rossi. 

Having  paid  my  debt  of  devotion  and  gratitude  to  the 
great  poet  Dante,  as  well  as  to  Italy,  I  hastened  to  return 
to  Paris  to  resume  the  rehearsals  of  "  Beatrix." 

It  was  on  the  2 2d  of  May  that  I  appeared  again  before 
the  Parisians  and  was  again  received  with  the  same 
expression  of  appreciation  as  in  my  previous  years.  This 
second  effort  to  play  in  French,  suffered  nothing  from 
comparison  with  the  first  one. 

From  that  time  up  to  July  of  1866  I  travelled  all 
through  Italy,  Austria,  Holland,  and  Belgium. 

My  exceptionally  good  health  never  abandoned  me 
through  my  long  and  tiresome  journeys,  though  un- 
fortunately I  never  was  able  to  accustom  myself  to  voyag- 
ing by  sea.  All  through  those  rapid  changes  I  acquired 
a  marvellous  store  of  endurance.  That  sort  of  life  in- 
fused in  me  sufficient  energy  to  lead  me  through  every 
kind  of  hardship  with  the  resolution  and  authority  of  a 
commanding  general.  All  obeyed  me.  None  questioned 
my  authority  owing  to  my  absolute  impartiality,  being 
always  ready  as  I  was,  either  to  blame  or  correct  him 
who  did  not  fulfil  his  obligations,  also  to  praise  without 
any  distinction  of  class,  those  who  deserved  it.  I  almost 
always  met  with  courtesy  among  the  actors  under  my 
direction,  and  if  any  one  of  them  dared  to  trouble  our 
harmony,  he  was  instantly  put  to  his  proper  place  by  the 
firmness  of  my  discipline. 

The  artistic  management  of  the  plays  was  left  to  me 
all  in  its  details.  Every  order  and  every  disposition  came 
from  me  directly.     I  looked  after  all  matters  large  and 


AMONG  CELEBRITIES  71 

small,    the   things   that   every   actor  understands,    con- 
tribute to  making  the  success  of  a  play. 

Concerning  my  own  personal  interests,  they  were  in 
charge  of  a  private  manager. 

I  am  proud  to  say  that  my  husband  was  the  soul  of  all 
my  undertakings.  As  I  speak  of  him,  my  heart  impels  me 
to  say  that  he  ever  exercised  upon  me  and  my  professional 
career  the  kindest  and  most  benevolent  influence.  It  was 
he  who  upheld  my  courage,  whenever  I  hesitated  before 
some  difficulty,  it  was  he  who  foretold  the  glory  I  should 
acquire,  he  who  pointed  out  to  me  the  goal,  and  antici- 
pated everything  in  order  that  I  should  secure  it.  With- 
out his  assistance  I  never  should  have  been  able  to  put 
into  effect  the  daring  attempt  of  carrying  the  flag  of 
Italian  dramatic  art  all  over  the  globe. 

My  reluctance  to  leave  my  home  and  country  was,  at 
that  time,  very  excusable.  I  was  feeling  anxious  over 
the  health  of  my  dear  old  mother,  and  was  haunted  by 
the  thought  of  losing  her,  while  far  away  from  her.  So 
it  really  happened,  for  she  died  while  I  was  on  my  way 
to  Rio  Janeiro.  Ten  years  before  I  had  experienced  the 
sorrow  of  losing  my  dear  father,  in  Florence,  without 
having  the  supreme  comfort  of  closing  his  eyes,  I  being 
at  that  time,  at  Wiesbaden,  Germany. 

Resimiing  the  trend  of  my  narrative,  I  took  a  great 
deal  of  pride  in  being  mentioned  as  an  example  of  punc- 
tuality. Some  of  my  long  travels  were  fraught  with  dis- 
comforts and  perils.  But  if  anyone  among  the  members 
of  my  company  was  either  afraid  or  for  some  other  reason 
reluctant  to  follow  me,  I  was  the  first  one  to  set  him  a 
good  example. 

Leaving  Moscow,  in  February,  1862,  to  go  over  to  Duna- 
berg  and  give  a  performance,  it  happened  that  we  had  to 
cross  a  bridge  near  Kowno,  on  foot,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  Owing  to  the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  it  being 
very  stormy,  and  the -bridge  being  under  repair  and  pro- 
nounced unsafe,  it  was  rather  a  risky  crossing.  When  we 
reached  the  spot  some  workmen  were  still  intently  at 
work,  by  torchlight.  The  torrent  running  beneath, 
swollen  by  the  rain  and  the  abundant  melting  of  the 
snows,  struck  fear  only  to  look  at  it,  especially  when  one 


^2  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

knew  that  on  the  very  same  morning,  a  working-man  had 
fallen  down  into  the  river  and  been  drowned. 

Hearing  about  this  accident  and  seeing  the  not  very 
reassuring  bridge,  all  covered  with  boards  and  beams,  my 
fellow-actors  refused  absolutely  to  cross  it.  Time  was 
pressing,  as  the  train  to  take  us  to  our  destination, 
was  waiting  on  the  other  shore,  while  the  hour  for 
our  departure  had  already  passed.  There  was  not  a 
place  in  which  we  could  find  any  accommodation  for  the 
night.  Having  been  assured  by  the  foreman  superin- 
tending the  work  of  repair  on  the  bridge,  that  we  could 
cross  in  safety,  I  felt  persuaded  that  there  wasn't  really 
any  danger,  if  we  went  o\'er  the  bridge  cautiously.  To- 
gether with  the  members  of  my  family,  from  whom  I  was 
never  separated,  joking  and  scoffing  at  the  most  stubborn 
ones,  we  crossed  that  long  bridge.  Seeing  us,  the  members 
of  the  company,  slowly,  like  sheep,  followed  us,  stum- 
bling here  and  there.  Having  thus  conquered  this  diffi- 
culty, I  was  able  to  arrive  at  Dunaberg,  the  day  set  for 
my  performance. 

During  the  month  of  September,  1866,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  crossed  the  ocean  on  my  way  to  the  United 
States,  where  I  remained  until  May  1 7th  of  the  following 
year.  It  was  in  the  elegant  Lyceum  Theatre  of  New 
York,  that  I  made  my  debut,  on  the  20th  of  September, 
with  "  Medea."  I  could  not  anticipate  a  more  enthusiastic 
reception  than  the  one  I  was  honoured  with.  I  felt 
anxious  to  make  myself  known  in  that  new  part  of  the 
world,  and  let  the  Americans  hear  me  recite  for  the  first 
time,  in  the  soft  and  melodic  Italian  language.  I  knew 
that  in  spite  of  the  prevailing  characteristics  of  the  in- 
habitants of  the  free  country  of  George  Washington, 
always  busy  as  they  are  in  their  feverish  pursuit  of  wealth, 
that  the  love  for  the  beautiful  and  admiration  for  dra- 
matic art,  were  not  neglected.  During  my  first  season 
in  New  York,  I  met  with  an  increasing  success,  and 
formed  such  friendly  relations  \\ith  many  distinguished 
and  cultured  people  that  time  and  distance,  have  never 
caused  me  to  forget  them.  While  writing  these  lines,  I 
send  an  affectionate  salutation  to  all  those  who  in  America, 
still  honour  me  with  their  remembrance. 


AMONG  CELEBRITIES  73 

Leaving  New  York,  I  was  asked  to  play  in  almost  all 
the  towns,  both  large  and  small,  of  the  United  States. 

I  will  pass  over  the  details  of  the  most  appreciative 
manifestations  of  enthusiasm  of  which  I  was  made  the 
subject  everywhere  that  I  performed  in  that  country, 
but  will  add:  "Many  warm  thanks  to  the  generously 
enthusiastic  American  audiences!" 

There  is  one  thing  to  which  I  wish  to  call  attention. 
The  Americans  have  set  in  the  theatrical  field  an  example 
which  old  Europe  has  finally  followed.  They  have  in- 
troduced the  custom  of  giving  afternoon  performances, 
matinees  as  they  call  them,  thus  giving  to  ladies  without 
escort,  the  opportunity  to  attend  a  play,  without  inter- 
fering with  their  home  duties,  or  going  out  at  night. 

Through  the  North  American  states,  they  usually  have 
two  performances  in  all  the  theatres,  on  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays.  The  applause  at  the  matinee  performances 
is  less  noisy  and  more  reserved  than  that  at  the  evening 
performances,  but  it  is  also  more  intelligently  distributed. 
The  young  ladies  would  rush  to  my  performances  in  such 
numbers  that  often  it  happened,  when  all  seats  were 
taken,  that  I  was  obliged  to  allow  some  of  them  to  stand 
on  the  stage  between  the  wings,  and  watch  the  play.  It 
was  a  pleasure  for  me  to  see,  between  the  acts,  the  pretty, 
fresh  faces  of  those  young  girls,  smiling  gratefully  at  me, 
for  the  privilege  they  had  been  granted. 

A  large  number  of  those  enthusiastic  young  ladies,  were 
permitted  to  attend  the  rehearsals  of  "  Elizabeth,  Queen 
of  England,"  by  Giacometti.  The  role  of  Elizabeth  was 
one  of  the  most  difficult  ones  for  me,  because  in  portray- 
ing that  character  I  had  to  bring  all  my  art  into  play. 
Reading  over  the  analysis  I  made  further  on  of  this  part, 
one  will  easily  see  how  much  work  it  entailed  on  me. 
That  production,  owing  to  its  magnificent  scenic  and 
dramatic  effects,  met  in  America  with  the  greatest  suc- 
cess of  all. 

Numerous  were  the  places  I  visited  in  the  United  States. 
It  would  take  too  long  to  mention  them  all  and  to  tell  of 
the  repeated  success  I  met  wherever  I  went.  But 
suffice  to  say  I  thoroughly  covered  this  delightful 
country   and    everywhere   was   better   received    than   I 


74  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

had  anticipated.  I  left  that  country,  as  I  have  said, 
in  May,  1867,  to  return  there  in  the  month  of  September 
of  the  same  year. 

During  the  first  days  on  board  the  steamer  Europa, 
crossing  the  Atlantic,  on  my  second  trip  to  America,  we 
met  with  such  stormy  weather,  that  one  of  the  deck- 
stewards  lost  his  life,  having  been  swept  overboard  by  a 
huge  wave.  We  were  later  informed  that  the  poor  fellow 
had  a  wife  and  children  at  Marseilles,  who  were  depending 
on  him  for  their  support.  It  was  a  pitiful  story  and 
spread  a  gloom  over  all  the  passengers  on  board.  We 
resolved  to  organise  a  soirée  during  the  voyage,  for  the 
purpose  of  raising  a  fund  for  the  unhappy  family  of  the 
poor  steward.  The  captain  most  landly  cooperated 
with  us  for  the  success  of  the  occasion.  The  dining-room 
of  the  steamer  was  transformed  into  an  elegant  theatre, 
^^ith  a  stage  at  one  end. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  we  had  on  board  the  celebrated 
soprano,  Madame  De  La  Grange,  and  with  the  balance 
of  the  actors  of  my  company  and  myself,  we  were  able 
to  arrange  an  attractive  programme  for  the  soiree. 

Mme.  De  La  Grange  was  to  sing  three  of  her  favourite 
pieces,  I  was  to  recite  the  scene  of  the  meeting  of  Mary 
Stuart  with  Elizabeth  from  Schiller's  tragedy.  A  French 
gentleman  had  volunteered  to  sing  a  romance.  The 
weather  was  then  comparatively  good,  consequently  we 
were  inclined  to  hope  that  the  following  evening — that 
set  for  the  soirée — would  prove  auspicious.  But  it  is  not 
safe  to  reckon  with  the  sea.  Just  about  noon,  the  waves 
began  to  swell  and  the  wind  to  rise  impetuously;  while 
the  boat  rolled  in  every  possible  way.  We  are  already 
beginning  to  feel  the  effect  of  it.  Toward  evening  it 
calmed  a  little.  We  were  able  to  commence  the  pro- 
gramme at  the  appointed  hour. 

I  ascend  the  stage,  feeling  almost  certain  that  I  will 
triumph  over  the  elements,  and,  filled  with  enthusiasm, 
I  begin  that  beautiful  invocation  of  Mary  Stuart  to  the 
clouds,  but  the  true  clouds  gather  fatally  above  us, 
and  the  sea  begins  to  rise  again!  At  the  time  when 
Elizabeth  comes  in,  my  head  commences  to  turn, 
I  stagger       .      .      .      my  throat  chokes  me 


AMONG  CELEBRITIES  75 

drops  of  cold  perspiration  rise  to  my  brow 
.     .     .     .     symptoms  of  mal  de  mer     ...  I  can 

hardly  connect  a  word  !  My  brother  who  is  supporting  me, 
playing  the  part  of  Talbot,  fearing  that  the  matter  is 
becoming  serious,  runs  out  for  a  bottle  of  salts,  which  he 
gives  to  me  to  smell  at  every  pause  I  make!  Owing  to 
this  expedient  I  manage  to  reach  the  end,  being  held  by 
Hannah,  every  time  I  am  about  to  fall. 

As  soon  as  I  was  through  with  the  struggle,  I  ran  on 
deck,  threw  myself  on  a  steamer-chair  beside  Mme.  De 
La  Grange,  my  fellow- sufferer  and  inquired  of  her  how 
she  had  been  able  to  get  to  the  end  of  her  part.  From 
where  I  sat  I  could  hear  the  song  of  that  amateur  who 
had  offered  his  support.  The  poor  fellow  could  not  have 
chosen  a  more  lugubrious  subject.  Singing  in  a  funereal 
voice:  "Richard  est  morti  .  .  ,  Richard  est  mart! 
.  .  .  .  "  he  largely  contributed  to  increase  the  pains 
I  was  suffering.  But  notwithstanding  all  these  mishaps, 
we  were  able  to  collect  a  rather  large  sum  of  money. 

That  concert  for  charity's  sake  was  also  the  cause  of  an 
amusing  episode,  the  details  of  which  we  heard  the  follow- 
ing day.  One  of  the  passengers  who  had  complained  to 
the  captain  of  the  neglect  which  he  claimed  the  ship  had 
sufifered — while  the  officers  were  enjoying  themselves  in 
the  salon — frightened  by  the  rising  sea,  had  donned  a  life- 
preserver  and  passed  all  the  night  on  deck.  The  ridicu- 
lous man,  would  constantly  cast  furious  glances  upon  us, 
who  were  perfectly  innocent  of  causing  the  danger  he 
fancied  he  had  run  of  being  swept  away  by  the  sea. 

By  the  end  of  January  of  1868  I  left  for  the  island  of 
Cuba.  What  a  passionate  public  I  met  at  Havana!  At 
every  performance  they  showed  to  me  some  new  form  of 
enthusiasm. 

One  the  evening  of  March  i6th,  I  played  for  my  special 
benefit  performance,  "Camma"  and  a  small  one-act  play 
called:  "What  the  Star  Likes,"  a  farce  written  for  my- 
self expressly,  by  the  popular  playwright,  Gherardi  del 
Testa.  In  the  play,  at  a  given  point,  being  disguised  in 
the  costume  of  Jeanne  d'Are,  I  would  recite  those  famous 
farewell  lines  of  Schiller,  so  beautifully  translated  into 
Italian  by  the  poet  Maffei. 


76  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

After  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  find  a  seat,  and  all  the  boxes  had  been  sold 
the  day  before.  As  is  customary  in  that  country,  many 
of  the  ladies  take  seats,  either  in  the  pit  or  in  the  gallery 
called  "cazuela,"  so  a  great  number  of  them,  fearing  that 
owing  to  the  rush,  they  would  not  be  able  to  obtain  good 
seats  later  in  the  evening,  took  possession  of  their  places 
at  2  P.  M.  and  had  their  luncheon  served  there. 

I  mention  these  details  not  with  the  intention  of  boast- 
ing of  my  success,  but  only  to  show  to  what  height  the 
enthusiasm  of  certain  people  can  reach. 

Returning  to  the  hotel  after  the  performance,  the 
people  tried  to  unhitch  the  horses  from  my  carriage,  but 
I  opposed  myself  energetically  to  such  demonstration.  I 
could  not  however  prevent,  some  young  fellows  from 
climbing  upon  the  top  of  the  carriage,  w^hile  others  seated 
themselves  next  to  the  driver,  so  that  they  could  be  near 
me.  I  was,  besides,  buried  under  an  avalanche  of  flowers 
thrown  at  me. 

Often  I  am  carried  back  in  thought  to  that  magic 
spectacle  of  those  tropical  skies,  where  under  a  galaxy  of 
scintillating  stars,  I  was  passing  in  review,  between  the 
lines  of  "volantas,"  filled  w^th  elegant  Cuban  w^omen, 
in  evening  toilettes,  who  were  throwing  kisses  to  me,  while 
their  coachmen  had  much  difficulty  in  holding  in 
their  horses,  who  w^ere  frightened  by  the  light  of  the 
torches.  Out  of  the  thousand-and-one  nights  I  have 
passed  under  a  clear  sky,  that  one  was  certainly  the  most 
beautiful  ! 

The  scene  of  that  paradise  has  remained  in  my  memory 
as  an  enchanting  tableau.  But  so  many  pictures  of  that 
tropical  nature,  that  seductive  life  with  all  its  Oriental 
softness,  have  been  painted,  that  I  do  not  dare  to  attempt 
to  give  you  a  description  of  them.  My  best  wishes  from 
the  depth  of  my  heart,  to  the  inhabitants  of  Havana,  w^ho, 
crowding  our  theatre,  greeted  me  with  so  much  appre- 
ciation ! 


Courtesy  of  Charles  L.  Ritzmann.  New  York 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  MARIE  ANTOINETTE 


I 


1 


CHAPTER  VII 

MY   FIRST  AND   STORMY  PERFORMANCE  OF   "  MARIE  ANTOI- 
NETTE   AT     BOLOGNA — BRAZIL     AND     ITS     EMPEROR 

THROUGH  THE  STEPPES  OF  RUSSIA — A  WIFE  WHO  IS 
HAPPY  IN  BEING  BEATEN  BY  HER  HUSBAND — I  RECITE 
A  SCENE  FROM   "  LADY  MACBETH  "  IN  ENGLISH 

Returning  from  the  United  States,  in  the  month  of 
September,  1868, 1  made  another  professional  tour  of  nine 
months'  duration  through  Italy.  I  produced  there  for 
the  first  time  the  most  popular  drama  of  Paolo  Giacometti, 
called  "Marie  Antoinette,"  which  had  aroused  so  much 
enthusiasm  in  the  United  States.  Owing  to  my  pre- 
dilection for  this  drama  and  also  to  my  old  friendship 
for  its  author,  I  took  particular  pains  in  order  to  produce 
it  with  a  splendid  effect.  I  was  especially  careful  that 
the  execution  of  the  play  should  be  historically  correct, 
and  the  costumes  and  scenery  should  portray  exactly 
the  time  it  represented.  The  love  I  had  for  historical 
truth,  induced  me  to  visit  the  "  Conciergerie  "  in  Paris, 
which  had  been  the  last  dwelling-place  of  the  unhappy 
Queen  of  France.  I  still  recall  the  painful  impression 
made  upon  me  by  the  sight  of  this  cell.  Filled  with  the 
subject,  I  was  studying  in  the  environment  of  the  great 
tragic  human  drama.  I  seemed  to  see  that  resigned 
martyr  of  the  French  Revolution,  and  to  hear  around  me 
her  heart-rending  sighs  ! 

It  had  been  decided  that  the  first  night  of  "Marie 
Antoinette,"  should  be  witnessed  by  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  audiences  of  Italy  and  one  most  capable  of 
appreciating  the  greatness  of  the  production.  My  good 
star  having  brought  me  to  Bologna  to  perform  ten  plays 
at  the  Theatre  Brunetti,  I  decided  to  play  "Marie  Antoi- 
nette," on  the  evening  of  November  9  th. 

We  had  to  overcome  a  great  many  difficulties  in  order 
to  obtain,  from  the  authorities  of  the  place,  the  necessary 

77 


78  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

permission  to  produce  the  play.  It  was  supposed  by  the 
censor,  even  before  he  had  read  it,  that  Marie  Antoinette 
was  a  reproduction  of  some  anarchistic  subject.  Even 
the  repubHcan  party  was  persuaded  that  the  drama,  was 
a  glorification  of  the  French  Revolution,  and,  excited 
by  the  attitude  taken  by  authorities,  was  anticipating 
some  kind  of  a  public  demonstration.  Finally,  owing 
to  the  intervention  of  some  high  official,  who  was  fully 
convinced  that  we  wouldn't  do  anything  to  trouble  the 
public  peace,  we  were  allowed  to  announce  the  play. 

At  last  the  impatiently  expected  evening  came.  Owing 
to  an  exaggerated  precaution,  the  usual  number  of  police 
was  reinforced  by  a  squad  of  soldiers.  The  audience 
was  immense,  crowding  the  theatre  in  such  a  way,  that  a 
pin  could  not  have  dropped  to  the  floor.  The  excitement 
in  the  beginning  was  intense,  but  as  the  play  progressed 
the  most  revolutionary  characters  in  the  audience,  saw 
that  it  was  not  meant  either  as  an  apology  for  the  spirit 
of  the  French  Revolution,  or  for  any  of  their  rebellious 
aspirations,  but  only  as  condemnation  of  an  atrocious 
crime — the  drama  was  nothing  but  an  exposition  of  the 
awful  trials  of  the  unfortunate  royal  family  of  France. 
It  was  only  meant  to  awaken  sentiments  of  pity  for  the 
victims  of  that  most  tragic  period.  That  did  not  suit 
the  turbulent  minds  in  the  audience.  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  second  act,  some  signs  of  disapproval  were  manifest 
among  those  disaffected  ones  and  they  grew  so  noisy  in 
their  expressions  during  the  third  act,  as  to  prevent  the 
more  reasonable  part  of  the  audience,  from  enjoying  the 
remainder  of  the  play. 

The  chief  of  police,  who  was  seated  in  a  proscenium 
box,  felt  very  uneasy  lest  some  serious  trouble  might 
arise.  The  author  of  the  play,  Signor  Giacometti,  doing 
his  best  to  maintain  his  composure,  was  standing  behind 
the  wings,  making  encouraging  gestures  to  the  actors.  I 
felt  quite  nervous  myself,  noticing  that  a  minority,  but 
the  noisiest  part  of  the  spectators,  had  made  up  their 
minds  to  drown  with  their  loud  exclamations  of  disap- 
proval the  pathetic  portions  of  the  play  which  held  the 
greater  part  of  the  audience  spellbound.  During  one  of 
the  turbulent  crises,  I  moved  toward  the  wing  where  stood 


BRAZIL,  RUSSIA,  LONDON  79 

Signor  Giacometti,  looking  painfully  excited,  and  said  to 
him  :  "  Come  over  to  the  footlights,  you  are  an  old  acknowl- 
edged liberal  character  and  they  will  listen  to  you."  He 
was  too  much  disturbed  to  understand  the  object  of 
my  request,  while  the  audience  was  becoming  more 
and  more  uncontrollable.  It  was  necessary  to  take  a 
bold  stand.  Seized  by  an  irrepressible  impulse,  I  rose 
resolutely  from  my  chair,  I  moved  toward  the  footlights 
and  made  a  motion  that  I  wished  to  speak.  The 
audience  quieted  down  as  by  enchantment,  and  I  be- 
gan my  harangue  with  these  words:  "Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  in  producing  in  Italy  this  drama  of  our  illus- 
trious compatriot,  I  thought  I  acted  wisely  in  selecting 
as  its  first  judge  a  Bolognese  audience,  so  renowned  for 
its  keen  intelligence  and  acquired  appreciation  of  the 
beautiful.  I  do  not  ask  anybody  to  applaud  what  he 
does  not  like,  but  in  order  to  be  able  to  pass  a  true  judg- 
ment upon  a  work  of  this  kind  it  is  necessary  to  see  and 
listen  unbiased  by  party  prejudice.  Let  all  party  feeling 
be  forgotten  then,  and  let  the  majority  of  this  honourable 
audience  who  came  here  to-night  unprejudiced  by  any 
political  bias  or  aspiration,  enjoy  this  historical  and 
classic  production  according  to  its  dramatic  merits." 

This  little  speech  was  received  with  an  outburst  of 
applause  and  succeeded  in  quieting  even  the  most 
turbulent  of  the  spectators.  At  the  end  of  the  play,  at  the 
falling  of  the  curtain,  I  was  called  out  several  times,  and 
came  forward  to  the  footlights  hand  in  hand  with  the  timid 
Signor  Giacometti,  who  was  now  weeping  with  emotion. 

Later,  the  chief  of  police  and  some  other  authorities 
came  on  the  stage  to  thank  me  and  to  congratulate  me 
on  the  courage  I  had  shown,  as  if  it  had  saved  the  country 
from   some   impending   calamity! 

After  this  experience  the  success  of  the  play  was  fully 
assured,  and  it  became  very  popular  wherever  I  played 
it,  so  popular  indeed,  that  in  some  small  towns  of  Italy, 
women  meeting  me  in  the  streets  would  point  their  fingers 
at  me  and  exclaim  :  "  Look,  there  goes  Marie  Antoinette  !  " 

The  papers,  however,  did  not  spare  it  in  their  criticism. 
The  radicals  found  that  the  tortures  practised  by  the 
cobbler  Simon  upon  the  unhappy  Dauphin  (Louis  XVII.), 


8o  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  "RISTORI 

were  exaggerated,  while  the  suflerings  and  martyrdom 
of  the  other  members  of  the  royal  family,  were  nothing  but 
a  poetiad  invention.  Nevertheless,  historical  truth 
triumphed  over  fanaticism  and  from  that  time  forward, 
"Marie  Antoinette"  was  well  received  and  most  suc- 
cessfully produced  everywhere. 

In  the  first  part  of  June,  I  sailed  with  my  company 
from  Italy  to  Rio  de  Janeiro.  On  the  20th  of  the  same 
month  I  made  my  debut  with  the  drama  "  Medea  "  at  the 
Theatre  Fluminense,  in  the  largest  town  of  Brazil.  Though 
the  Brazilians  were  anxious  to  see  me,  and  the  theatre 
was  well  filled,  even  the  members  of  the  Imperial  family 
being  present  at  the  performance,  still  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, on  my  appearance  on  the  stage  in  the  scene  where 
I  come  down  from  the  mountain  holding  my  two  children 
by  their  hands,  I  was  most  coldly  received  !  Not  a  sound 
of  applause,  not  a  murmur  of  greeting!  The  unexpected 
coldness  astonished  me,  as  I  was  aware  of  the  reputation 
the  Brazilians  have  of  being  very  enthusiastic  in  their 
reception  of  dramatic  artists. 

However,  soon  after  the  disappointing  effects  of  that 
opening  scene,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience  rose  and 
dissipated  the  first  coldness,  and  when  Medea,  with  words 
of  desolation,  maddened  by  the  lamentations  of  her 
children  asking  for  bread,  exclaims: 

"  Why  can  I  not  draw  from  my  own  veins 

The  last  drop  of  blood,  and  say: 

'  Take,  drink  my  own  blood!     .     .     .     .' " 

the  despairing  invocation  coming  impetuously  from  my 
lips  and  out  of  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  produced  some- 
thing like  a  shivering  sensation  in  the  audience,  and 
resulted  in  bringing  forth  one  of  those  spontaneous  out- 
bursts of  applause  which  is  called  the  baptism  of  a  great 
success.  When,  later  in  the  play  Medea,  turning  to 
Creusa,  declares  to  her  that  if  she  discovers  her  rival  she 
will  jump  in  a  bound  upon  her  like  a  leopard  and  tear 
her  to  pieces,  the  house  broke  into  frantic  applause. 

How  many  honours  and  distinctions  I  was,  later,  made 
the  recipient  of  by  the  people  and  the  Sovereigns  of  Brazil  ! 
What  a  gentle  mind  and  what  an  exceptionally  cultured 


BRAZIL,  RUSSIA,  LONDON  8i 

personality  I  found  in  the  Emperor  Dom  Pedro!  He 
honoured  me  with  his  friendship,  of  which  I  am  very- 
proud,  and  neither  time  nor  distance  has  ever  lessened 
the  warmth  of  my  feeling  for  him.  I  was  received  at  court 
together  with  my  husband  and  children,  and  I  will  not 
attempt  to  describe  or  tell  how  much  kindness  and  cour- 
tesy were  bestowed  upon  me  by  that  noble  family.  I  had 
many  opportunities  to  admire  the  culture  and  brilliant 
intellect  of  His  Majesty  the  Emperor.  He  was  familiar 
with  all  kinds  of  literature.  Owing  to  his  uprightness 
and  his  sound  judgment  in  governing,  he  was  loved  by  all 
his  subjects.  He  had  but  one  aim,  and  that  was  the  pro- 
gress and  prosperity  of  his  people.  He  often  expressed 
the  desire  to  undertake  a  trip  to  Europe,  so  that  his 
country  might  benefit  by  the  results  of  his  observations 
of  modern  progress.  But  it  is  superfluous  to  mention  the 
numerous  noble  qualities  he  possessed.  His  history 
has  been  made  known  to  all  the  world. 

I  was  wandering  from  one  surprise  to  another  and 
through  repeated  emotions  while  in  that  wonderful 
country. 

It  would  not  be  for  me  to  tell  all  that  they  devised  in 
order  to  show  their  admiration  for  me.  I  was  living  in  a 
pretty  villa  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  the  city.  The  night 
that  I  played  for  my  special  benefit,  thousands  of  people, 
some  of  them  carrying  lighted  torches  escorted  me  to  my 
house,  after  the  performance.  In  each  of  the  various 
streets  through  which  I  had  to  go,  a  band  was  stationed 
playing  national  Brazilian  and  Italian  airs.  The  roads 
all  strewn  with  flowers,  lighted  with  beautiful  fire-works 
of  a  thousand  colours. 

After  I  reached  my  home,  the  playing  of  the  bands 
continued  until  late  night. 

From  Rio  Janeiro  I  went  to  Buenos  Ayres,  opening  my 
season,  on  the  loth  of  September,  with  "  Medea." 

New  joys  were  awaiting  me  in  that  delightful  country, 
where  the  Italian  colony  is  very  numerous  and  true  as 
always  to  any  reminder  of  their  fatherland.  I  received 
royal  greetings,  being  particularly  proud  of  those  lavished 
upon  me  by  the  inhabitants  of  Argentina.  In  the  pleasant 
city  of  Buenos  Ayres,  I  was  the  object  of  such  a  striking 


82  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

demonstration,  that  I  still  maintain  the  most  vivid 
remembrance  of  it.  During  the  month  of  October,  I 
visited  Montevideo,  where  I  received  a  similar  hearty 
greeting.  Then,  bv  wav  of  Rio  laneiro,  I  sailed  for 
Italy. 

In  September,  187 1,  I  travelled  through  the  various 
Danubian  Principalities,  including  Bucharest,  Galatz, 
Braila,  Jassy.  What  an  eventful  trip  it  was  from  the 
Balkans  to  Russia  !  The  means  of  transportation  were  few 
and  hard  to  get.  We  had  to  cross  some  lands  which  did 
not  have  even  a  trace  of  a  path.  We  hired  vehicles  of  all 
sorts  and  shapes,  some  of  them  lacking  seats  where  we 
could  safely  lie  down  ;  but  for  lack  of  better  ones,  we  were 
forced  to  use  these  makeshift  conveyances. 

We  made  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  could  before 
starting  on  this  journey,  but  looked  like  a  caravan  of 
immigrants.  Some  big  bells  had  been  attached  to  the 
horses  of  the  first  carriage,  which  was  the  one  I  occupied, 
in  order  that  through  the  darkness  of  the  night  they 
should  act  as  guides  to  the  carriages  following.  Fre- 
quently we  were  tossed  and  jerked  about  so  that  we  had 
to  hold  on  to  the  railings  of  the  seats  to  prevent  ourselves 
from  being  thrown  over  on  the  road,  which,  owing  to  its 
sharp  inclines,  looked  like  a  frozen  stormy  sea.  It  being 
October,  the  nights  were  very  cold  and  though  we  were 
wrapped  up  in  cloaks  and  blankets,  with  which  we  were 
provided,  the  carriages  were  uncovered,  and  we  suffered 
intensely  from  the  cold. 

When  morning  came,  our  drivers,  without  giving  us 
any  warning,  made  a  halt,  unhitching  the  horses  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  feeding  them  with  hay  and  oats. 
Seeing  that  we  could  not  dream  of  the  luxury  of  even 
a  hut  in  which  to  eat  some  breakfast,  we  had  to  resign 
ourselves  to  the  situation  and  imitate  the  simplicity  of 
our  forefathers.  Seating  ourselves  on  the  bare  ground, 
we  spread  out  our  plaids  and  placed  on  them  the  eatables, 
which  we  had  fortunately  taken  with  us.  The  originality 
of  our  table,  the  voracious  appetite  we  brought  to  our 
repast,  after  such  a  cold  night,  together  with  the  fresh  air 
of  the  open  country  and  the  hearty  laughter  prompted 
by  the  primitiveness  of  the  situation  in  which  we  found 


BRAZIL,  RUSSIA,  LONDON  S^ 

ourselves,  all  contributed  to  make  us  enjoy  our  meal 
immensely. 

Reaching  Kishineff,  on  the  20th,  we  took  up  our 
quarters  at  the  best  hotel  of  the  place.  What  a  happy 
luxury,  after  our  nomadic  journey!  However,  on  taking 
possession  of  our  respective  rooms,  in  order  to  enjoy  a 
well-deserved  rest,  we  discovered  that  we  had  no  cause  for 
overmuch  rejoicing.  Our  beds  were  provided  with  only 
a  single  bedcover.  All  the  servants  had  retired,  so  we 
had  to  ring  a  long  time  and  wake  up  the  whole  hotel- 
force,  before  we  obtained  what  we  wanted.  At  last  we 
went  to  sleep,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  night  the  screams 
of  a  woman  woke  everybody  in  the  hotel.  We  listened 
behind  the  doors  of  our  rooms,  the  bells  began  to  ring 
again,  and  the  domestics  ran  in  every  direction.  We 
were  informed  that  the  wife  of  a  Russian  was  creating  all 
this  uproar.  Her  amiable  husband  was  administering  a 
punishment  to  her  which  she  will  long  remember.  The 
screaming  went  on,  and,  moved  with  pity  and  indignation, 
we  sent  the  strongest  man  of  our  troupe  to  protect  the 
poor  woman.  The  door  was  locked,  but  owing  to  the 
heavy  and  repeated  knocks  or  rather  blows  of  the  rescuer, 
who  demanded  admission,  the  screaming  ceased.  Then 
appeared  in  the  corridor,  the  woman  in  petticoats,  angry 
and  excited,  crying  out  with  a  stentorian  voice  :  "  What 
do  you  want?  Mind  your  business!  My  husband  has  the 
right  to  beat  me  if  he  wishes!" 

"  If  such  treatment  is  salutary  for  you,  please  stand  it 
without  screaming,  we  want  to  sleep,  so  good  night,"  we 
replied  and  laughing  we  returned  to  our  rooms. 

From  Kishineff  we  went  first  to  Odessa  and  then  to 
Kieff,  at  the  end  of  1871,  stopping  at  Berlin,  Weimar, 
and  in  Belgium,  and  then  on  to  Rome,  where  I  took 
quarters  for  the  winter  season,  wishing  to  rest  for  a 
while  after  my  long  trips  and  the  fatigues  of  stage  life. 
It  is  well  for  me  to  state  now,  that  outside  the  Dan- 
ubian  Principalities,  and  Turkey  and  Greece,  which  I 
visited  only  once,  while  I  visited  more  than  twice  the 
other  parts  of  the  world;  but  when  a  little  rest  was 
granted  to  me,  I  always  preferred  either  Paris  or  Rome 
as  my  resting  place. 


84  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

I  made  my  fourth  trip  to  London  in  1873. 

Not  having  any  new  drama  to  present  and  being  tired 
of  repeating  the  same  productions,  I  felt  the  necessity  of 
reanimating  my  mind  with  some  strong  emotion,  of  dis- 
covering something,  in  a  word,  the  execution  of  which 
had  never  been  attempted  by  others. 

At  last  I  believed  I  had  found  something  to  satisfy 
my  desire.  The  admiration  I  had  for  the  Shakespearean 
dramas,  and  particularly  for  the  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  inspired  me  with  the  idea  of  playing  in  English, 
the  sleeping  scene  from  "Macbeth,"  which  I  think  is  the 
greatest  conception  of  the  Titanic  poet.  I  was  also 
induced  to  make  this  bold  attempt,  partly  as  a  tribute  of 
gratitude  to  the  English  audiences  of  the  great  metropolis, 
who  had  shown  me  so  much  deference.  But  how  was  I 
going  to  succeed?  ...  I  took  advice  from  a  good 
friend  of  mine,  Mrs.  Ward,  the  mother  of  the  renowned 
actress  Genevieve  Ward.  She  not  only  encouraged 
my  idea,  but  offered  her  services  in  helping  me  to  learn 
how  to  recite  that  scene  in  English. 

I  still  had  some  remembrance  of  my  study  of  English 
when  I  was  a  girl,  and  there  is  no  language  more  difficult 
to  pronounce  and  enunciate  correctly,  for  an  Italian.  I 
was  frightened  only  to  think  of  that,  still  I  drew  sufficient 
courage  even  from  its  difficulties,  to  grapple  with  my 
task.  After  a  fortnight  of  constant  study,  I  found  my- 
self ready  to  make  an  attempt  at  my  recitation.  How- 
ever, not  wishing  to  compromise  my  reputation  by  risk- 
ing a  failure,  I  acted  very  cautiously. 

I  invited  to  my  house  the  most  competent  among  the 
dramatic  critics  of  the  London  papers,  without  forewarn- 
ing them  of  the  object  and  asked  them  kindly  to  hear  me 
and  express  frankly  their  opinion,  assuring  them  that  if 
it  should  not  be  a  favourable  one,  I  would  not  feel  badly 
over  it. 

I  then  recited  the  scene  in  English,  and  my  judges 
seemed  to  be  very  much  pleased.  They  corrected  my 
pronunciation  of  two  words  only,  and  encouraged  me  to 
announce  publicly  my  bold  project.  The  evening  of  the 
performance,  at  the  approach  of  that  important  scene, 
I   was   trembling!      .     .     .     The   enthusiastic   reception 


BRAZIL,  RUSSIA,  LONDON  85 

granted  me  by  the  audience,  awakened  in  me  all  vigour, 
and  the  happy  success  of  my  effort  compensated  me  a 
thousandfold  for  all  the  anxieties  I  had  gone  through. 
This  success  still  increased  my  ambitious  aspirations,  and 
I  wished  to  try  myself  in  even  a  greater  task.  I  aimed  at 
no  less  a  project  than  the  impersonation  of  the  entire  role 
of  Lady  Macbeth  in  English,  but  such  an  arduous  under- 
taking seemed  so  bold  to  me,  that  I  finally  gave  up  the 
idea  and  drove  away  from  my  mind  forever  the  temptation 
to  try  it. 


CHAPTER  Vili 

THE  DEPARTURE  FOR  A  PROFESSIONAL  TOUR  THROUGH  THE 
PRINCIPAL  CITIES  OF  THE  WORLD — THE  STRAIT  OF 
MAGELLAN — PERU,  ITS  REVOLUTIONS  AND  REVOLU- 
TIONARY    PEOPLE — "CERRA  PUERTA!" VERA       CRUZ 

AND    NEW  YORK — THE  HISTORY  OF  A   NEW-BORN  BABE 
AND   HIS    FOUR-LEGGED  NURSE 

In  the  month  of  May,  1874,  we  sailed  from  Bordeaux, 
France,  for  a  trip  around  the  worid.  We  had  with  us, 
besides  our  children,  our  old  friend  General  Galletti,  a 
most  congenial  companion. 

This  is  the  itinerary  that  we  planned  : 

Bordeaux,  Rio  Janeiro,  Buenos  Ayres,  Montevideo, 
Santiago  (Chili),  Valparaiso,  Lima,  Mexico,  Pueblo,  Vera 
Cruz,  the  United  States,  the  Sandwich  Islands,  New 
Zealand,  Sydney,  Melbourne,  Adelaide,  Ceylon,  Aden, 
Suez,  Alexandria  (Egypt),  Brindisi,  Rome. 

After  having  gone  so  far  on  this  professional  tour,  in 
the  order  mentioned,  we  sailed  from  Montevideo,  on  the 
15th  of  July  of  the  same  year,  upon  the  magnificent 
English  steamer  Britannia,  bound  for  Valparaiso.  We 
crossed  the  Strait  of  Magellan,  having  on  one  side  Pata- 
gonia and  on  the  other  Terra  del  Fuego.  I  should  digress 
too  much  from  my  prescribed  path,  were  I  to  attempt  to 
describe  all  the  emotions  I  experienced  in  beholding  for 
the  first  time  these  wonderful  scenes.  I  will  say  only  that 
the  delightful  weather  we  enjoyed  in  spite  of  all  predic- 
tions to  the  contrary,  permitted  me  to  gaze  upon  the  ever- 
changing  view  with  wide-open  eyes,  bent  on  being  the  first 
one  to  be  able  to  boast  of  discovering  some  spot  or  thing 
the  like  of  which  we  had  never  seen  before.  I  did  not 
have  to  wait  long  to  satisfy  my  desire.  I  beheld  a  skifT 
sailing  in  the  direction  of  our  boat.  It  contained  a  whole 
family  of  Patagonians.  They  were  very  tall  people,  with 
olive  complexions  and  long  dishevelled  hair,  as  stiff  as 

86 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD       87 

hogs'  bristles.  As  far  as  their  characteristic  features  were 
concerned,  the  wide  mouth,  the  prominent  cheek  bones, 
and  the  long  white  teeth,  I  found  many  points  of 
resemblance  between  this  type  of  men,  and  my  old 
acquaintances  the  Redskins,  whom  I  had  met  during  my 
first  long  trip  to  California.  I  can  see  even  now,  those 
tall  Patagonians,  badly  clothed  with  dark  animal  skins, 
begging,  by  gestures,  that  we  give  them  something  to  eat 
and  to  smoke. 

Glad  to  be  able  to  satisfy  their  wants,  we  begged  the 
captain  to  slacken  the  speed  of  the  steamer,  as  it  is 
customary  for  the  commander  of  any  boat,  but,  I  do  not 
recollect  for  what  reason,  our  captain  did  not  wish  to  do 
so,  though  the  poor  fellows,  rowing  with  all  their  might, 
were  trying  to  overtake  us.  From  their  gestures  we 
readily  understood  the  imprecations  they  sent  after  us, 
on  discovering  that  their  hopes  were  vain. 

Coming  out  of  the  Strait,  the  passing  of  which  took 
thirty-six  hours,  we  came  to  Cape  Pillar.  We  found  there 
such  a  furious  sea,  that  it  was  difficult  for  us  to  stand  on 
our  feet.  I,  as  a  matter  of  precaution,  had  been  fastened 
with  a  strap  to  the  ring  of  the  upper  port-hole  over  my 
couch,  on  which  I  was  lying,  when  a  violent  surge  of  the 
ship,  threw  down  both  myself  and  my  couch,  leaving  me 
suspended  by  the  arm  from  the  strap.  The  pain  I  felt  was 
too  intense  to  allow  me  to  free  myself  from  that 
uncomfortable  position.  The  people  who  came  to  my 
assistance,  were  also  staggering  owing  the  rocking  of 
the  boat,  and  presented  to  the  other  passengers  a  funny 
spectacle.  It  was  in  that  peculiar  position  that  I  was 
introduced  to  the  "Pacific"  Ocean! 

On  the  first  of  August  I  made  my  debut  at  Valparaiso, 
Chili.  My  sojourn  in  that  country  including  Santiago 
and  Quillotta,  lasted  two  months.  The  favours  and 
warm  tokens  of  admiration  I  received  there,  were  not 
any  less  than  those  I  had  been  honoured  with  in  other 
countries. 

On  the  1 8th  of  the  following  October  I  was  at  Lima, 
the  beautiful  capital  of  Peru.  There,  as  in  many  other 
places,  I  opened  my  season  with  "Medea."  I  discovered 
a  most  intelligent  audience,  which  lavished  upon  me  a 


ss  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

thousand  kind  attentions,  but  I  narrowly  escaped  being 
the  witness  of  a  civil  war. 

I  was  far  from  imagining  that  among  the  few  cabin 
passengers  on  board  of  the  steamer  Britannia,  some  of 
whom  landed  at  Punta  Arenas,  near  the  middle  of  the 
Strait  of  Magellan,  there  was  one,  who  two  months  later 
would  break  the  peace  of  our  pacific  sojourn  at  Lima. 
This  person,  was  a  man  of  rather  small  stature,  and  very- 
energetic  appearance.  He  was  not  talkative  and  his 
gruff  manners  did  not  say  much  in  his  favour.  The 
gossip  which  ran  about  him  on  board,  among  our  small 
floating  colony,  was  not  such  as  to  encourage  anybody 
to  get  acquainted  with  him.  He  called  himself  Don 
,  a  Peruvian  who  had  been  the  head  of  a  con- 
spiracy for  the  overthrowing  of  the  President  of  the 
Republic.  His  methods  of  accomplishing  his  object  was 
nothing  less  than  the  blowing  up  of  an  entire  railway 
train,  which  was  carrying  on  board  the  President  of  Peru 
and  all  the  members  of  his  Cabinet,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  inauguration  of  a  new  branch  of  some  railroad  line. 

Rightly  or  wrongly,   Don was    accused    of    being 

responsible  for  this  outrage  and  was  banished  from 
the  Peruvian  soil.  This  dangerous  companion  of  our 
journey,  landed  at  Coronel,  the  first  halting  place  of  the 
Britannia,    in   Chili. 

We  had  just  reached  Valparaiso,  when  the  news  was 

brought  to  us  that  Don ,  having  been  joined  by  a 

number  of  his  partisans,  had  hired  a  "clipper,"  and  sailed 
for  an  unknown  destination. 

Our  delightful  sojourn  at  both  Valparaiso  and  Santiago, 

had    caused   us   to    forget   the    name    of   Don but 

when  we  arrived  at  Lima,  we  were  apprised  that  this  con- 
spirator had  landed,  with  his  men,  on  the  Peruvian  coast, 
and  was  fomenting  a  rebellion  and  fighting  at  the  head  of 
a  small  army  against  the  soldiers  of  the  Government. 
Revolutions  and  counter-revolutions,  succeed  one  another 
in  that  country,  where  the  office  of  president,  so  eagerly 
sought,  very  often  costs  the  life  of  the  ambitious  one  who 
has  secured  it.  Such  had  been  the  price  paid  by  the 
majority  of  the  heads  of  that  Government  up  to  the 
year  1874. 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD         89 

Besides  the  papers,  which  every  morning  brought  us 
the  news  of  the  war,  we  were  in  possession  of  a  living  news- 
bearer,  in  the  shape  of  a  native  servant  we  had  hired  to 
assist  our  domestics  in  the  fulfillment  of  their  duties. 
Though  his  only  tasks  were  to  do  the  marketing  and  run 
errands,  we  had  bestowed  upon  him  the  pompous  title 
of  "Majordomo."  After  the  first  war  news  reached  us, 
it  was  no  longer  possible  to  make  him  leave  the  house. 
With  every  unfavourable  news  concerning  the  Presiden- 
tial party,  our  Majordomo,  would  become  frantically 
tragic,  and  we  were  forced  to  listen  to  his  lamentations. 

We  could  not,  at  first,  understand  how  this  man  could 
confine  himself  steadily  indoors,  and  after  some  days, 
we  made  up  our  mind  to  force  him  to  go  out.  He  armed 
himself  with  a  sword-cane,  with  which  he  told  us,  he  would 
know  how  to  defend  himself,  though  in  appearance  he  was 
not  very  belligerent.  "  But  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  "  someone  asked  him,  "  you  have  to  go  to  the  market 
only  and  not  to  war."  "  But  don't  you  know,"  answered 
the  Majordomo,  "the  danger  that  I  am  threatened  with 
at  every  street?  the  Government,  needing  soldiers,  takes 
them  by  force,  and  if  they  lay  their  hands  on  me,  I  am 
lost."  And  it  was  really  so,  as  we  discovered  a  few  days 
later.  A  sergeant,  together  with  two  soldiers  would 
force  every  poor  fellow  he  met  to  enlist,  and  if  the  cap- 
tured one  offered  any  resistance  he  was  lassoed  as  wild 
horses  are  on  the  plains  of  Mexico. 

Don ,  and   his    followers    were    approaching   the 

capital.  One  morning  the  President  at  the  head  of  his 
troops,  left  the  city  of  Lima,  to  go  and  meet  the  enemy, 
which  the  greater  part  of  the  population  so  greatly  feared, 
leaving  only  the  police  force  to  protect  the  city.  Of  all 
the  people  in  the  Capital  we  were  the  only  ones  who  were 
surprised  at  what  was  happening,  as  its  inhabitants  had 
been  accustomed  for  a  long  time  to  witness  events  of  this 
kind.  One  day  we  went  on  a  very  interesting  excursion 
by  a  railway  to  Oroyo,  which  crosses  the  Andes,  connect- 
ing Peru  with  the  Amazon  River.  We  ascended  to  a 
height  of  14,000  feet  above  the  sea  level,  going  through 
some  of  the  most  picturesque  zones  of  vegetation,  in  which 
we  noticed  hordes  of  wild  buffalos,  and  some  captive  ones 


Qo  MEInIOIRS  of  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

used  to  plough  the  soil.  After  our  return  in  the  evening 
we  were  seated  at  the  table,  telling  to  a  Peruvian  friend 
who  was  dining  with  us,  our  impressions  of  the  day,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  we  heard  from  the  street  cries  of  ''Cerra 
pileria!  ccrra  piicrta!''  A  woman  beside  herself,  rushed 
inside  of  our  "patio,"  shouting:  ''Jesus  Maria!  la  revo- 
liicion!"  Our  courageous  Majordomo,  even  more  fright- 
ened than  the  woman,  dashed  to  the  door  of  the  house, 
closed  it  violently,  locked  it  and  fastened  it  with  an  iron 
bar.  Urged  by  our  curiosity  to  find  out  what  the  mat- 
ter was  we  ran  to  the  windows  and  noticed  that  our 
neighbours  had  taken  the  same  precaution  as  our  Major- 
domo.  Hearing  some  shooting  at  a  distance,  we  pru- 
dently withdrew  our  heads  from  the  windows.  "  But 
what  is  the  matter,"  we  asked  our  host.  He,  not  in  the 
least  disconcerted,  answered:  "  It  is  nothing  but  a  "Cerra 
ptierta."  Whenever  the  President  is  obliged  to  leave 
the  city,  with  its  garrison,  in  order  to  repress  some  revo- 
lutionary movement,  it  often  happens  that  those  who 
remain  behind  begin  to  fight  among  themselves.  The 
policemen,  who  are  too  few  in  number  to  maintain  order 
are  instructed  before  returning  to  their  barracks,  to  run 
through  the  streets  crying:  "Cerra  puerta"  which 
means:  Close  the  door.  All  the  inhabitants 
then,  close  and  lock  their  outside  doors  and 
await  patiently  the  result  of  the  trouble.  If  you  are  in 
the  street  you  run  the  risk  of  getting  shot,  but  the  dwell- 
ings are  never  invaded.  We  were  able  quietly  to  resume 
our  dinner,  but  this  sublime  indifference,  did  not  modify 
our  curiosity  and  in  spite  of  the  advice  given  to  us,  we 
still  looked  out  of  the  windows.  One  could  neither  see 
nor  hear  anything.  The  shooting  had  ceased.  Soon 
afterward  the  doors  began  to  be  cautiously  opened,  and 
the  people  to  peep  through,  while  policemen  reappeared 
in  the  streets  bringing  reassuring  news.  It  had  been  a 
false  alarm,  and  next  came  a  telegram  announcing  a  great 
victory  of  the  President's  troops  over  the  rebels.  "  All's 
well  that  ends  well,"  Shakespeare  says;  We  opened 
the  door  laug?iing  at  the  tragi-comic  interruption  of  our 
meal  and  gaily  resimied  our  seats  at  the  table. 

In  the  Peruvian  capital  the  ladies  are  very  handsome, 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD         91 

good  and  kind.  Page  after  page,  could  I  fill  describing 
my  pleasant  recollections  of  Lima  which  are  still  vivid  in 
my  memory. 

On  the  28th  of  November,  we  went  to  Callao,  the  sea- 
port of  Lima,  only  fifteen  minutes  by  rail  from  that  place, 
and  took  passage  on  board  the  steamer  Oroya,  bound 
for  Panama.  That  voyage  was  a  most  agreeable  and 
enjoyable  one.  The  sea  was  calm  all  the  way,  thus 
permitting  the  poorest  sailors  of  all  among  our  people  to 
sit  on  deck  and  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  pelicans,  the  alba- 
trosses and  other  sea  birds,  flying  around  our  ship, 
tracing  long  white  and  gray  lines  below  the  azure  sky. 

After  coasting  the  islands  of  Labos  de  Tierra,  and  the 
barren  chain  of  mountains  of  Siila  de  Prysta,  the  scene 
changed,  and  we  noticed  some  islands  covered  with  a 
variegated  vegetation,  where  the  finest  tropic  fruits  grow 
as  in  a  great  wilderness. 

The  isthmus  of  Panama  is  a  real  terrestrial  paradise. 
It  is  the  Eden  sung  by  poets.  There,  a  spreading  floral 
vegetation  allures  and  dazzles  one,  and  a  daphne  azure 
sky,  but  more  cloudy  than  that  of  Italy,  extends  above  it. 

At  Panama,  we  left  the  Oroya  and  went  ashore.  In 
a  few  hours  ride  on  a  railway  train,  we  were  transported 
from  one  ocean  to  the  other,  crossing  a  marvellous  coun- 
try, which  leaves  the  impression  of  a  fairy  scene  on  the 
mind  of  the  traveller.  However,  the  high  temperature 
and  the  heavy  atmosphere  which  fill  that  region  with 
malaria,  were  so  oppressive  that  we  felt  very  much 
relieved  on  leaving  land  and  going  on  board  the  steamer 
Saxonia,  a  German  boat  which  after  a  short  stop  at 
Curasao  took  us  to  the  pretty  city  of  Saint  Thomas.  On 
the  1 6th  of  December  we  embarked  upon  a  steamer  of  the 
English  Line,  bound  direct  to  Mexico.  The  25th  of  the 
same  month,  after  having  touched  Havana,  we  found 
ourselves  again  on  board  of  the  Ehro.  We  sailed 
smoothly  upon  the  brilliant  waters  of  the  Mexican  Gulf. 

Having  come  on  deck  early  in  the  morning  of  the  25th, 
each  of  us  felt  a  sweet  and  melancholy  sensation,  while 
smiling  at  his  travelling  companions,  during  the  usual 
handshake.      We  were  no  longer  strangers  to  one  another. 


92  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

If  there  were  any  dislikes  they  vanished  away;  a  common 
sentiment  united  us  all.  We  all  sighed  and  longed 
for  something.  No  wonder!  It  was  Christmas  Day! 
We  were  separated  by  thousands  of  miles  from 
our  distant  ones  at  home.  Our  minds  were  filled 
with  thoughts  which  flew  about  us  like  a  flight  of 
swallows  and  uniting  under  that  radiant  blue  sky,  formed 
a  cheering  breath  of  sweet  remembrance  for  all  our  dear 
ones  who  were  far  away  from  us!  Our  floating  palace 
was  gaily  decorated  with  flowers  and  flags  of  all  nations. 
The  dining  room  had  changed  its  usual  aspect;  the 
pictures  hanging  on  the  walls  were  covered  with  holly 
branches,  brought  over  from  England;  long  multi- 
coloured silk  ribbons  hung  from  the  picture  frames,  hold- 
ing white  placards  which  bore  in  large  golden  letters 
the  inscription:  "A  Merry  Christmas!"  Wreaths  of 
flow^ers  were  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  The  captain's 
table  had  assumed  gigantic  proportions.  The  kind- 
hearted  commander  having  abolished  on  this  great  day 
all  social  distinctions,  the  first  and  second-cabin  passengers 
mingled,  and  passed  in  front  of  the  monumental  plum- 
pudding,  prepared  for  the  occasion,  by  the  chef  of  the 
steamer.  At  seven  in  the  evening,  we  were  all  standing 
at  our  seats  at  the  table;  the  captain  recited  a  short 
prayer  and  then  seating  himself  greeted  us  with  the  words  : 
"  A  Merry  Christmas  to  all  of  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

When  dinner  was  over,  we  all  went  on  deck  where  there 
was  to  be  a  display  of  fireworks.  One  could  not  imagine 
anything  more  fantastic  than  those  bunches  of  skyrockets 
breaking  in  a  golden  rain  through  the  darkness  of  that 
quiet  and  beautiful  night,  under  a  tropical  sky  and  over 
that  sea,  covered  with  silvery  reflections,  in  which  our 
boat  left  behind  a  sparkling  and  glittering  trail.  The 
stentorian  voices  of  the  sailors  broke  forth  in  loud  hurrahs  ! 
mingled  with  the  names  of  the  different  countries  repre- 
sented by  the  various  passengers  on  board.  Such 
deafening  hurrahs!  which  w^ere  lost  in  the  immense 
solitude  of  the  ocean,  but  which  found  an  echo  in  our 
hearts. 

When  the  fireworks  were  over,  we  improvised  a  ball 
for  the  crew  and  the  steerage  passengers.     The   captain 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD         93 

began  the  dance.  The  orchestra,  composed  of  a  con- 
certina and  a  trombone,  a  new  and  most  original  com- 
bination, was  placed  under  an  enormous  branch  of  mistle- 
toe, hanging  on  a  rope  over  the  deck.  Lying  in  our 
steamer-chairs,  we  enjoyed  the  merriment  of  those  good 
people,  joining  in  their  laughter  every  time  a  couple 
passes  under  the  mistletoe,  when  according  to  an  English 
custom,  the  man  is  granted  the  privilege  of  stealing  a  kiss 
from  his  lady  partner  in  the  dance. 

By  midnight  all  was  quiet  and  silence  reigned  on  board 
the  ship,  but  we  remained  for  some  time  longer  on  deck, 
silent  and  ecstatic  in  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  sky 
from  which  every  star  seemed  to  smile  and  throw  a  gleam 
of  kindly  light  upon  us. 

I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  return  to  my  cabin. 
More  than  ever  before,  during  that  Christmas  night,  I 
felt  moved  with  profound  gratitude  toward  God  who  had 
protected  us,  in  the  long  trips  over  the  seas,  and  was  now 
granting  us  this  moment  of  rest,  of  calm,  and  of  hope  for 
what  was  left  for  us  to  accomplish.  The  bell  on  board, 
ringing  two  o'clock,  woke  me  up  from  my  revery.  At 
that  moment  a  sailor  passing  by  me,  I  exclaimed:  "A 
Happy  Christmas  to  you  and  all  your  dear  ones  at  home  !  " 
I  could  not  refrain  from  repeating  to  him  the  greeting 
which  a  sailor  boy  had  given  me  in  the  morning  as  I  was 
coming  out  of  my  cabin. 

A  very  charming  reception  awaited  us  at  Vera  Cruz, 
Mexico.  We  were  greeted,  so  to  speak,  by  the  whole 
population  of  the  place,  headed  by  the  municipal  author- 
ities, who  had  secured  quarters  for  us  and  had  them  all 
decorated  with  flowers  and  fitted  with  every  possible 
comfort. 

I  began  my  season  in  the  City  of  Mexico  on  the  31st 
of  December,  and  there  I  also  met  with  a  most  appre- 
ciative reception. 

On  my  way  to  the  United  States,  I  played  at  Puebla 
and  at  Vera  Cruz.  Visiting  this  latter  town  for  the  second 
time,  I  was  again  struck  with  its  mournful  aspect.  It 
was  not  by  chance  that  the  explorer  Cortez,  named  that 
place  "The  True  Cross,"  in  remembrance  of  his  many 
companions  who  there  fell  victims  of  the  yellow  fever, 


94  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

a  plague  which  even  now  mows  down  yearly  many 
people  in  that  place.  I  must  confess  that  my  fears  of 
it  only  ceased  when  we  got  on  board  the  French  steamer 
La  Ville  de  Brest,  bound  for  New  York.  This  was  on  the 
17th  of  February.  Since  the  evening  before,  besides  the 
uneasiness  we  experienced  on  account  of  the  heavy  north 
wind,  very  much  feared  on  that  coast,  a  storm  was  rag- 
ing, and  constantly  increasing  in  force.  Indeed,  the  next 
morning  the  sight  of  the  terribly  infuriated  sea,  fully 
justified  our  apprehensions.  Some  of  the  actors  of  our 
company,  together  with  our  luggage,  were  taken  on  board 
early  in  the  morning.  The  sea  was  continually  growing 
heavier  and  heavier,  and  when  the  time  came  for  the  rest 
of  us  to  go  on  board,  the  boatmen  pointed  to  the  high 
waves  which  were  lashing  the  shore,  and  refused  to  take 
us  to  the  Ville  de  Brest  which  we  could  see  at  a  distance 
tossing  like  a  nutshell  in  the  middle  of  the  bay.  Our 
prayers  and  threats  were  of  no  avail,  and  it  was  only  when 
we  offered  them  twenty  dollars  for  each  boat  that  they 
found  courage  to  risk  rowing  us  to  the  steamer.  The 
half-hour  seemed  a  very  long  time  to  us,  so  great  was  our 
fear  of  being  swallowed  by  the  raging  sea  and  it  was  with 
a  sigh  of  relief  that  we  climbed  the  little  stairway  of  the 
ship,  with  our  clothes  soaking  wet  as  if  we  had  been  dipped 
in  the  sea.  The  captain  of  the  Ville  de  Brest,  had  had  the 
courtesy  to  delay  the  departure  of  his  vessel  for  an  hour, 
an  unusual  thing  for  the  captain  of  a  steamer  carrying 
mail  to  do.  A  large  part  of  our  luggage  however,  could 
not  be  got  on  board,  owing  to  the  absolute  refusal  of  the 
boatmen  to  venture  with  a  hea\'y  boat  load  on  that  high 
sea.  We  had  to  resign  ourselves  to  leaving  it  behind  us 
until  the  next  boat,  a  week  after,  trusting  in  our  good 
stars,  to  find  in  New  York  what  was  most  necessary  for 
us,  so  that  we  should  not  be  obliged  to  put  off  the  opening 
night  already  announced. 

At  last  we  sailed  and  while  moving  away,  little  by  little, 
from  the  Mexican  coast  which  was  gradually  fading  away 
under  a  sad  gray  sky,  a  hundred  and  fifty  Sisters  of  Charity 
who  had  been  expelled  by  the  Government  of  Mexico, 
knelt  on  deck  in  spite  of  the  rolling  of  the  vessel,  the 
impetuous  wind,  and  the  dashing  waves,  -with  a  religious 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD         95 

but  sorrowful  song,  and  said  goodbye  to  a  land  where 
they  could  no  longer  lavish  the  treasures  of  their  charity 
upon  the  people.  That  solemn,  mournful  picture  reveal- 
ing so  many  hidden  and  silent  sacrifices,  so  much  abne- 
gation for  a  most  pure  ideal,  moved  us  all  to  pity,  and  I 
noticed  a  sailor  near  me,  with  his  callous  hands  wiping  a 
tear  from  his  eye.  The  voyage  to  Havana,  where  the 
Ville  de  Brest  landed,  was  a  most  distressing  one,  and  the 
sea  was  not  in  a  much  more  benignant  mood  during  our 
trip  on  the  Crescent  City,  which  took  us  to  New  York. 
Though  this  boat,  while  of  rather  small  dimensions,  was 
newly  built  and  of  solid  construction,  the  heavy  blows  of 
the  rolling  sea,  made  it  crack  every  moment,  as  if  knock- 
ing against  rocks.  It  was  with  great  satisfaction  that  we 
at  last  reached  terra  firma,  and  found  ourselves  in  New 
York,  on  February  27,  1875. 

But  as  trouble  and  annoyances  never  cease,  I  was  for 
several  days  very  much  worried  about  the  balance  of  the 
scenery  and  the  costumes  which  had  been  left  behind  and 
which  were  needed  for  the  opening  night  performance. 
We  were  compelled  to  provide  ourselves  with  others  which 
were  not  well  suited  to  the  play.  We  were  inconven- 
ienced thus  for  a  whole  month,  and  every  time  I  went 
on  the  stage,  noticing  that  my  costumes  did  not  bear  out 
the  true  historical  representation  of  the  roles,  it  was  harder 
than  usual  for  me  to  interpret  my  part.  The  cheapness 
of  my  cloak  would  hamper  my  movement.  Even  the 
smallest  accessories  of  the  costume  of  my  role,  were  miss- 
ing. At  last,  with  the  arrival  of  our  luggage,  my  troubles 
came  to  an  end. 

We  remained  in  the  United  States,  from  the  27th  of 
February  until  our  departure  for  Sydney,  Australia, 
meeting  everywhere  the  usual  kindness  and  the  ex- 
pressions of  keen  appreciation  of  our  professional  efforts. 
My  tour  in  America,  came  to  an  end  at  San  Francisco, 
from  whence  we  were  to  sail  for  Australia.  Unfortunately, 
however,  the  last  days  of  our  sojourn  in  that  entrancing 
place,  were  saddened  by  a  mournful  event. 

My  brother  Caesar  who  always  travelled  with  me,  was 
struck  with  a  great  sorrow.  His  wife  died,  giving  birth 
to  her  first  child. 


96  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

It  was  out  of  the  question  to  leave  the  new-born  babe, 
to  tlie  care  of  an  American  nurse.  The  distance  and 
difficulty  of  communicating  from  Australia  deterred  him 
from  doing  so.  What  should  we  do?  How  could  we  find 
a  nurse  willing  to  undertake  on  so  short  a  notice  such  a 
long  trip?  Somebody  suggested  an  idea,  which  seemed 
a  capital  one.  It  was  to  buy  a  she-goat  and  take  her 
with  us.  The  day  of  our  sailing,  the  little  four-legged 
nurse  was  made  the  object  of  our  greatest  care,  but  un- 
fortunately, the  sea  was  not  equally  kind  to  her.  But 
I  am  anticipating. 

We  resolved  to  sail  from  San  Francisco  on  the  21st  of 
January,  1876,  and  had  secured  accommodations  on  the 
steamer  City  of  Melbourne.  The  captain,  Mr.  Brown, 
notified  me  that  the  steamer  would  sail  at  high  noon,  while 
the  agent  of  the  steamship  company  had  repeatedly 
assured  us  that  the  hour  of  departure  would  be  2  p.  m. 
Since  early  morning  everything  had  been  ready.  Boxes, 
trunks,  baskets,  hand  baggage  all  were  on  board.  At 
that  time  there  was  only  one  boat  a  month  from  San 
Francisco  to  Australia.  In  order  not  to  run  any  chances, 
I  took  special  care  that  everything  should  be  ready  in 
time  and  had  arranged  that  we  should  all  meet  at  the 
dock  at  the  hour  indicated  to  us  by  the  agent.  At  noon, 
in  company  with  my  daughter  and  my  domestics,  I 
started  for  the  dock,  which  w^as  only  twenty  minutes 
walk  from  the  place  where  we  were  staying,  and  where 
we  expected  to  meet  my  husband  and  my  boy.  At  the 
entrance  of  the  pier,  a  crowd  of  people  was  waiting  to 
wish  me  a  pleasant  voyage,  but  from  the  excited  signs 
they  were  making  to  us,  I  understood  that  something 
had  happened.  In  fact,  they  were  urging  us  to  hurry, 
as  the  boat  was  about  to  sail,  the  hour  of  departure  set  by 
the  captain  having  passed.  Imagine  my  disappointment  ! 
I  inquired  for  my  husband  and  my  son,  and  learning  that 
they  had  not  yet  appeared,  I  flatly  refused  to  go  on  board. 
The  captain  losing  his  patience,  gave  the  order  to  lift 
anchor.  In  vain  all  the  members  of  our  company,  already 
on  board,  begged  him  to  desist  from  his  purpose.  All 
will  understand  the  anguish  I  was  in.  At  last,  both  my 
husband  and  child  came  rushing  in,  having  been  notified 


FIRST  TOUR  AROUND  THE  WORLD         97 

of  what  was  happening.  But  the  captain  perhaps  with 
the  intention  of  punishing  us  for  our  supposed  dilatoriness, 
had  merely  given  an  order  to  execute  a  feint  of  departure. 
When  we  saw  the  steamer  coming  back,  how  our  hearts 
expanded ! 

In  a  great  hurry,  with  the  assistance  of  our  friends  and 
acquaintances,  we  threw  on  board  all  the  small  pieces  of 
baggage  and  bundles  we  had  with  us  and  jumped  on  after 
them,  seating  ourselves  on  the  first  chair  that  was  offered 
to  us,  overcome,  as  we  were,  with  excitement.  That 
terrible  state  of  prostration  I  was  in  did  not  prevent  me, 
however,  from  casting  lowering  glances  at  the  captain 
who  would  not  listen  to  our  arguments  of  justification. 
As  soon  as  we  left  the  harbour,  the  sea  being  very  rough, 
we  were  all  placed  hors  de  combat,  and  I  had  to  be  carried 
to  my  cabin. 

My  brother,  who  was  also  ill  and  no  longer  in  a  con- 
dition to  look  after  his  babe,  without  warning  entered 
my  cabin,  where  I  and  my  daughter  were  suffering,  laid 
the  babe  on  my  arms  and  rushed  away  on  deck.  The 
poor  little  thing  began  to  scream.  I  was  so  ill  myself,  that 
I  could  hardly  hold  him.  Fortunately  one  of  the  ladies 
of  the  company  came  to  my  assistance,  and  carried  the 
poor  little  fellow  to  the  ladies'  parlour,  where  a  cradle 
had  been  placed  for  him. 

A  few  days  later,  a  new  trouble  arose.  The  interesting 
little  goat,  which  had  thus  far  filled  her  duties  of  nurse, 
fell  sick  and  gave  no  more  milk.  The  reader  will  easily 
understand  our  predicament.  Even  the  sailors  were 
moved  to  pity.  Some  offered  condensed  milk,  others 
some  improvised  farinaceous  liquid,  assuring  us  that  it 
was  an  excellent  food.  By  listening  to  them,  you 
would  think  that  every  one  of  them  was  an  experienced 
baby  nurse.  We  trusted  in  Providence,  however,  and 
did  our  best  to  keep  the  infant  from  starving  to  death. 
Thank  God,  some  of  the  food  offered  was  suitable  for  him, 
so  that  we  were  able  on  reaching  Sydney,  to  land  the  child 
there  in  a  fairly  good,  healthy  condition. 

Continuing  my  narrative,  I  will  add  that  for 
several  days  I  was  angry  with  our  disobliging 
captain,   but   noticing  the   strictness   of   the   discipline 


98  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

he  maintained  on  board  the  ship,  and  the  interest 
he  seemed  to  feel  in  me  and  my  family,  I  over- 
looked his  rough  manners  and  his  seeming  rudeness 
at  the  beginning  of  our  voyage  and  we  became  the 
best  of  friends. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  KING  OF  HAWAII  IN  DRESS-SUIT  AND  SILK  HAT — HIS 
CLEVERNESS  AND  HIS  COURTESY — NEW  ZEALAND  AND 
AUSTRALIA — THE  END  OF  MY  PROFESSIONAL  TOUR 
AROUND  THE  WORLD — THE  UNEASINESS  OF  THE 
ARTIST — STOCKHOLM,    THE    "VENICE    OF    THE    NORTH" 

— I  ESCAPE  FROM  A  TERRIBLE  DANGER THE  STUDENTS 

OF    UPSALA 

On  the  27th  of  January  we  reached  Honolulu,  in  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  where  we  stopped  for  twenty-four 
hours.  The  Italian  Consul,  the  excellent  Mr.  Schaefer, 
came  to  meet  us  on  board  and  took  us  to  a  delightful 
hotel  with  a  veranda,  hidden  under  the  foliage  of  a 
tropical  vegetation.  We  were  in  raptures  over  the 
panorama  stretched  before  us,  and  ready  to  follow  our 
guide  through  the  charming  country  surrounding  the 
city.  After  making  our  toilet,  we  saw  Mr.  Schaefer 
coming  to  us  with  a  message  from  King  Kalakaua — an 
invitation  to  a  luncheon  at  his  palace. 

We  were  happy  in  the  anticipation  of  seeing  the  island 
king  in  the  midst  of  a  court,  which  we  supposed  to  be 
more  or  less  grotesque.  All  the  women  we  had  met  in 
the  city  were  dressed  alike,  in  simple  multicoloured 
tunics,  their  heads  ornamented  with  wreaths  of  yellow 
flowers,  and  all  galloping  on  little  ponies  and  laughing 
at  one  another.  As  to  the  men,  they  wore  a  similar 
costume  and  had  similar  expressions  of  merriment 
in  their  faces. 

While  awaiting  for  the  appointed  hour  for  luncheon 
at  the  palace  of  the  king,  we  took  a  long  drive  down  the 
valley  of  Paly,  a  sort  of  deep  and  rugged  funnel  into  which 
Kamehameha  I,  the  so-called  Napoleon  of  the  Pacific, 
threw  the  conquered  soldiers  of  the  princes  of  the  neigh- 
bouring islands,  and  thus  succeeded  in  reigning  alone  over 
all  the  islands.     After  eight  days  of  lonesome  sailing, 

99 


loo         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

it  was  a  delight  for  us  to  run  through  those  green  and 
fragrant  fields,  real  jewels  of  nature,  where  the  many- 
coloured  rose  bushes  stretched  out  between  one  tree  and 
another,  interlacing  in  beautiful  wreaths  among  the 
leafy  branches,  loaded  with  bananas,  oranges  and  fruit 
of  all  descriptions.  But  time  was  passing  and  we  had 
hardly  enough  of  it  to  get  back  to  the  city  and  attend 
our  royal  reception. 

Still  escorted  by  our  kind  consul,  we  entered  a  beauti- 
ful garden,  where  two  aides-de-camp  of  the  King  were 
awaiting  us.  They  were  blond,  fine-looking  young  fel- 
lows, wearing  a  uniform  like  that  of  European  soldiers, 
adorned  with  silver  embroidery.  They  led  us  through  a 
very  simple  vestibule  to  the  house,  a  one-story  structure. 
The  doors  of  the  reception  hall  were  open,  two  domestics 
clad  in  blue  livery  trimmed  with  silver  braid,  held  back 
the  drapery,  while  we  entered  a  large  room  upon  whose 
walls  hung  the  portraits  of  all  the  monarchs  of  the  world. 
King  Victor  Emanuel,  from  the  height  of  his  frame, 
seemed  to  welcome  us.  Quickly  our  expectations  of 
meeting  some  "savages"  were  shattered!  When  his 
Majesty  Kalakaua  moved  forward,  graciously  holding 
out  his  hand,  our  ideas  of  grotesque  savages  were  dispelled. 
The  King,  who  was  somewhat  dark  in  complexion,  was 
rather  tall,  wore  a  Prince  Albert  coat,  and  had  side 
whiskers  like  an  Englishman.  He  had  a  pleasant  physi- 
ognomy and  the  simple  manners  of  a  perfect  gentleman. 
He  spoke  to  us  in  correct  English  and  one  of  his  first 
questions  was  whether  we  liked  the  two-step  better  than 
the  old-fashioned  waltz.  The  luncheon  was  serv^ed  on 
fine  Sevres  porcelain  tableware,  and  the  cutlery  was 
of  the  finest  silver.  In  order  to  excuse  the  absence  of 
the  Queen,  the  King  himself  condescended  to  tell  us  that 
she  was  in  the  woods.  That  was  the  only  note  to  remind 
us  of  the  local  "colour."  The  table  was  exquisite  and 
the  conversation  most  interesting,  as  besides  our  consul, 
we  had  with  us  Judge  Allen  of  the  United  States,  who 
had  been  our  companion  on  the  steamer  from  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

When  lunch  was  over  the  King  offered  me  his  arm  for 
a  tour  in  the  garden,  where  all  the  rest  of  the  guests 


THE  PACIFIC  AND  NORTH  EUROPE         loi 

followed  us.  In  the  garden,  there  was  a  pavilion  from 
which  we  heard  the  strains  of  our  national  royal  hymn. 
I  was  moved  by  such  kind  attention.  How  sweet  are 
such  remembrances  of  our  fatherland,  in  far  away 
countries  ! 

We  should  have  liked  to  remain  longer  with  his 
Majesty,  if  we  had  not  promised  to  attend  a  concert 
which  Madame  De  Murska,  a  distinguished  opera  singer 
and  our  fellow  passenger  on  the  steamer,  was  giving  that 
night  in  a  public  hall  of  the  town.  Having  dressed  for 
the  occasion,  we  hastened  to  go  to  the  concert  and  were 
just  taking  our  seats,  when  the  King,  and  the  Queen 
who  had  "returned  from  the  woods,"  made  their  ap- 
pearance. The  Queen  had  rather  pleasant  features,  and 
dark  complexion.  She  wore  a  black  dress  with  a  long 
train,  and  a  wide  blue  ribbon  across  her  breast.  The 
King  wore  tight  black  trousers  and  patent  leather  top 
boots.  He  held  a  riding-whip  in  his  hand,  which  he 
twirled  continually,  while  seated  in  his  gold-trimmed 
armchair.  All  his  officers  and  the  ladies  of  the  Queen 
were  of  the  pure  Hawaiian  type,  though  dressed  like 
Europeans. 

About  midnight,  after  having  enjoyed  a  good  supper 
at  the  hotel,  we  returned  to  our  boat  and  retired  to  our 
cabins.  I  was  undressing  when  somebody  knocked  at 
my  door.  I  opened  it  to  find  myself  confronted  by  an 
aide-de-camp  of  the  king.  He  was  holding  in  his  hand 
a  mysterious  package  wrapped  in  a  red  handkerchief  which 
he  unfolded  before  my  eyes.  His  Majesty  remembering 
what  I  said  at  luncheon,  regarding  the  exquisiteness 
of  some  of  the  fruit  served,  had  kindly  sent  me  some. 
Between  two  oranges,  I  found,  instead  of  his  card,  the 
picture  of  his  Majesty  Kalakaua  II,  with  his  autograph. 
Having  emptied  the  handkerchief,  the  aide-de-camp 
folded  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  as  he  took  his  leave 
of  me. 

We  sailed  away  the  following  day.  For  two  days  in 
succession  we  met  a  very  stormy  sea.  Near  the  coasts 
of  New  Zealand  it  became  so  dreadful  that  even  the 
captain  began  to  feel  worried,  as  our  boat  was  of  small 
displacement,  only  800  tons.     After  22  days  of  a  most 


I02         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RLSTORI 

distressing  voyage,  we  arrived  at  Auckland,  New  Zealand, 
where  we  landed,  staying  over  a  whole  day.  To  be 
able  to  walk  without  rolling,  to  sit  at  a  table  which  was 
not  rocking,  and  which  was  covered  with  a  clean  table 
cloth  (such  things  had  been  rare  in  our  steamer),  to  be 
able  to  eat  some  fresh  bread,  some  appetising  food,  and 
to  dine  tranquilly  without  caring  whether  a  dark  cloud 
should  come  on  the  horizon  and  darken  the  sun  ;  all  these 
things  gave  us  such  a  delightful  sensation,  that  we  forgot 
our  past  inconveniences  and  all  we  had  suffered  on 
board. 

After  a  good  night's  rest,  we  proceeded  on  our  voyage 
to  Sydney,  leaving  it — with  much  regret — after  a  month 
of  continuous  performances.  I  left  behind,  upon  the 
hills  of  Port  Jackson,  some  newly  made  friends  to  whom 
I  am  pleased  to  repeat  my  assurance  of  gratitude  for  all 
their  kindness. 

From  Sydney  we  went  to  Melbourne,  where  I  played 
thirty-four  times,  with  the  same  satisfactory  results  as 
at  Sydney.  I  returned  to  that  place  on  the  nth  of 
October  to  give  my  farewell  performances.  The  town 
of  Adelaide  happened  to  be  the  last  station  in  that 
delightful  country. 

It  was  with  the  performance  of  "Mary  Stuart,"  that 
I  closed  my  series  of  three  hundred  and  twelve  per- 
formances, on  the  evening  of  the  4th  of  December  1875, 
on  my  first  tour  around  the  world.  During  that  most 
successful  professional  tour,  I  travelled  35,283  miles  by 
sea  and  8,365  by  land.  I  was  on  the  water  one  hundred 
and  seventy  days,  and  travelled  by  rail  seventeen  days 
and  eight  hours.  In  a  word,  I  left  Rome  on  the  15th  of 
April,  1874,  and  returned  there,  by  way  of  Brindisi  on 
the  14th  of  January,  1876.  Hence  our  trip  lasted  twenty 
months  and  nineteen  days. 

I  must  say,  however,  that  although  I  brought  home  a 
treasury  of  most  delightful  recollections,  a  wealth  of 
glorious  artistic  laurels  and  unanticipated  financial 
results,  the  prospect  of  a  definite  rest  at  home  was  cheer- 
ing to  me.  The  happiness  of  being  back  in  my  own 
country,  the  joy  of  being  again  with  relatives  and  dear 
friends,    the   privilege   of   having   absolute   liberty   and 


THE  PACIFIC  AND  NORTH  EUROPE       103 

freedom,  to  live  as  I  pleased  (a  pleasure  I  had  long  been 
deprived  of),  and  the  power  to  make  myself  useful  to 
others  in  performing  only  for  charity;  all  this  was 
delightful  to  me  and  put  together  should  have  been  suffi- 
cient inducements  for  my  retirement  from  the  active 
professional  life. 

However,  that  fever  which  takes  possession  of  the 
actor,  and  against  which  it  is  useless  to  struggle,  urged 
me  once  again  to  renounce  the  so  much  longed-for  rest. 
In  fact,  in  the  month  of  October,  1876,  I  resolved  to  take 
another  trip  to  Spain  and  Portugal  to  fill  a  professional 
engagement  of  three  months'  duration,  which  ended  in 
Italy.  In  the  month  of  October,  1879,  I  went  to  Den- 
mark, and  very  much  encouraged  in  my  reception,  I 
returned  there  the  following  December. 

From  Copenhagen  I  betook  myself  to  Sweden.  I 
enjoyed  a  most  agreeable  sojourn  at  Stockholm,  which 
is  rightly  called  "the  Venice  of  the  North." 

I  found  the  population  in  that  place  ready  to  be  car- 
ried away  by  enthusiasm.  King  Oscar  possesses  a  most 
lofty  mind  and  is  not  only  a  poet  but  a  worshipper  of 
good  music.  Among  the  various  foreign  languages  he 
is  familiar  with,  I  noticed  that  he  was  pleased  at  being 
able  to  speak  Italian  correctly  with  me. 

Among  the  numerous  manifestations  of  his  keen  ap- 
preciation of  my  art,  I  must  mention  the  one  he  honoured 
me  with  on  the  evening  of  my  special  benefit  performance. 

I  was  playing  "Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,"  and 
his  Majesty,  with  his  Court,  was  present.  At  the  end  of 
the  performance,  the  King,  escorted  by  his  children,  came 
to  my  dressing-room  and  after  having  expressed  himself 
in  the  most  kind  and  flattering  terms  of  appreciation  of 
my  art,  as  a  token  of  his  great  satisfaction,  he  handed  me 
a  golden  decoration,  bearing  on  one  side  the  inscription: 
" Litteris  et  Artibus'' — and  on  the  other  the  portrait 
of  his  Majesty  surmounted  by  the  royal  crown  set  in 
diamonds. 

During  my  tour  through  Sweden  and  Norway  an  acci- 
dent happened  to  me  which  might  have  proved  fatal. 
The  students  of  Upsala  addressed  to  me  a  very  urgent 
request  to  give  a  performance  at  their  beautiful  University. 


SP 


I04         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

After  having  at  first  refused,  I  yielded  to  the  temptation 
to  go  and  play  before  that  young  and  intelligent  audience. 
My  performances  at  Stockholm  were  to  take  place  on  the 
24th  and  25th;  and  on  the  27th,  I  was  to  go  to  Gothen- 
borg.  At  the  risk  of  fatiguing  myself  beyond  my  strength, 
I  resolved  to  sacrifice  the  only  day  I  had  between  those 
dates  and  play  at  Upsala  on  the  26th.  I  made  arrange- 
ments for  a  special  train  and  left  hurriedly.  After  the 
performance  I  was  escorted  to  the  station  by  a  large 
crowd  which  had  gathered  there  to  cheer  me — I  ascended 
the  train  in  company  with  my  husband  and  my  nephew, 
Giovanni  Tessero,  and  feeling  worn  out  by  the  fatigues 
and  the  emotions  of  the  evening,  I  went  sound  asleep. 
The  country  we  had  to  run  through  was  intersected  by 
large  canals  accessible  to  big  vessels.  The  railroad  goes 
over  some  drawbridges,  whose  control  is  left  at  the 
mercy  of  employees  of  the  road,  who  must  open  and  close 
them  alternately  to  allow  either  the  boats  or  the  trains 
to  go  by.  At  about  one  in  the  morning,  we  were  all 
awakened  by  a  violent  shock  and  by  signals  of  alarm. 
The  train  had  suddenly  stopped  before  a  swinging  bridge 
which  was  open.  We  were  told  that  we  had  almost 
miraculously  escaped  from  a  great  danger.  A  telegram 
notifying  the  bridge-tender  that  a  special  train  would 
pass  by  at  12:30,  had  been  despatched,  but  he  under- 
standing it  to  be  12  130  at  noon,  and  not  expecting  any 
train  to  come  during  the  night  had  left  the  swinging 
bridge  open  and  gone  home  to  sleep.  If  the  engineer, 
either  through  prudence  or  owing  to  a  certain  presenti- 
ment had  not  slackened  the  speed  of  the  train,  in  a  few 
seconds  we  would  have  jumped  into  that  abyss  a 
few  feet  ahead  of  us  ! 

It  took  more  than  half  an  hour,  before  our  signals  of 
alarm  were  heard.  Fortunately  another  bridge-tender, 
who  lived  nearby  and  whose  sleep  was  not  too  sound, 
was  aroused  by  our  signals  ;  he  closed  the  bridge  and  the 
train  was  able  to  cross  it. 

The  following  day  I  received  a  large  number  of  tele- 
grams congratulating  me  on  my  escape,  which  was  another 
proof  of  the  love  that  those  people  bore  me.  I  learned 
later  from  the  Italian  Minister,  Count  La  Tour,  that  the 


THE  PACIFIC   AND   NORTH   EUROPE         105 

morning  after  our  departure  from  Stockholm,  the  news 
had  been  spread  that  our  train  had  jumped  into  the 
canal! 

But  as  a  contrast  to  this  lugubrious  incident,  I  will 
mention  one  of  a  happier  character. 

The  delightful  Swedish  melodies,  sung  by  the  young 
students  of  Upsala  under  my  balcony,  still  sound  in  my 
ear.  It  was  at  the  home  of  the  governor  where  a  supper 
had  been  given  in  my  honour  that  I  enjoyed  this  serenade. 

The  day  after,  at  the  moment  of  leaving  Upsala  to 
return  to  Stockholm,  we  met  in  the  waiting-room  of  the 
station,  a  wonderful  chorus  of  the  students  waiting  for 
us.  They  received  us  with  a  merry  song,  which  was 
followed  by  many  others,  gradually  growing  sad  in  tone. 
When  we  entered  our  car,  those  fine  young  fellows  lined 
themselves  alongside  it,  and  when  the  whistle  of  the 
locomotive  was  heard,  they  began  to  sing  the  celebrated 
national  air  "Necken's  Polka,"  which  Ambroise 
Thomas,  has  so  fittingly  incorporated  among  the  many 
jewels  included  in  the  death  scene  of  Ophelia,  in  his  opera 
"Hamlet." 

The  snow  was  falling  in  large  flakes,  as  the  train  slowly 
moved  away,  while  that  mournful  melody  was  dying  out 
in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  X 

I  PLAY  "lady  Macbeth"  and  "Elizabeth  of  England" 

IN     ENGLISH THE     DIFFICULTY     I      EXPERIENCED      IN 

ACQUIRING  THE   RIGHT   PRONUNCIATION   IN   THIS  LAN- 
GUAGE  MY   FAREWELL    PERFORMANCE   IN    PARIS — MY 

SECOND  PROFESSIONAL  TOUR  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES 

I  PLAY  WITH  EDWIN  BOOTH AN  ITALIAN  ACTRESS  WHO 

PLAYS  IN  ENGLISH  WITH  GERMAN  ACTORS THE  AMERI- 
CAN COMPARTMENT  CARS FAREWELL  TO  THE  READER! 

I  SPENT  a  month  travelling  through  Denmark,  Sweden 
and  Norway,  meeting  everywhere  the  warmest  reception. 

I  returned  to  those  countries  in  the  month  of  October, 
1880,  coming  down  to  the  South  of  Europe,  I  played  for 
the  first  time  at  Munich,  Bavaria,  giving  there  four  per- 
formances, which  proved  to  be  so  many  more  testimonials 
of  the  most  valued  appreciation.  There,  more  than  in 
any  other  country,  I  was  honoured  by  the  native  German 
actors,  with  a  fraternal  demonstration  of  kindness. 

At  the  end  of  that  year,  I  decided  not  to  accept  any 
further  engagements,  but  to  enjoy  in  Rome,  the  tran- 
quillity of  home  life.  But  soon  again,  I  was  forced  to 
realise  that  inactive  idleness  was  not  suited  to  my  tem- 
perament. 

The  actor  can  be  compared  to  the  soldier.  The  formier 
dazzled  by  his  triiimphs,  sighs  continually  for  the  struggles 
of  stage-life  ;  the  latter  filled  with  the  glory  he  has  acquired 
on  the  battlefield,  cannot  resign  himself  to  peace. 

One  day,  an  idea  which  had  been  haunting  my  mind 
for  the  last  seven  years,  again  took  a  strong  hold  upon 
me.  I  resumed  with  great  diligence,  the  study  of  English. 
I  set  to  work  filled  with  enthusiasm.  With  the  progress 
of  my  study  and  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  my  teacher. 
Miss  Clayton,  my  purpose  of  mastering  the  language 
strengthened.  Unfortunately,  business  matters  post- 
poned during  my  absence  from  home  the  past  summer  as 

106 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA  107 

well  as  many  other  cares  connected  with  my  home  duties, 
continued  to  interrupt  my  studies  half  of  the  year.  Grow- 
ing impatient  of  the  delays  caused  by  those  interruptions, 
I  determined  to  neglect  everything  else  in  order  to  acquire 
the  correctness  and  perfection  of  pronunciation  necessary 
for  the  stage,  little  caring  for  fluency  in  English  in  general 
conversation. 

Owing  to  my  determination  and  daily  application  I 
obtained  the  desired  results.  I  found  my  study,  however, 
exceedingly  hard  to  master. 

That  great  Greek  orator  who  used  to  place  in  his  mouth 
pebbles  picked  from  the  seashore  in  order  to  correct 
faults  of  enunciation  was  no  more  resolute  in  his  purpose 
than  myself.  In  order  to  master  the  twisting  of  my 
tongue  necessary  for  the  pure  enunciation  of  English,  I 
adopted  a  particular  method.  On  account  of  the  open 
and  closed  tones,  I  would  learn  upon  which  of  the  syllables 
I  had  either  to  raise  or  lower  my  voice,  and  also  which  of 
the  sounds  should  be  softly  or  strongly  pronounced.  With 
the  help  of  some  of  the  diphthongs  used  in  French,  I 
endeavoured  to  render  those  particular  sounds  of  English, 
which  it  is  so  difficult  for  Italians  to  acquire.  At  times 
I  would  add  to  the  French  diphthongs  "eu"  or  "ou," 
which  helped  me  in  getting  the  desired  sound  together 
with  that  special  intonation  so  necessary  to  every 
language. 

At  last  my  purpose  was  accomplished.  Being  assured 
by  competent  judges  of  the  perfection  of  my  acquisition, 
I  was  able  to  appear  on  the  English  dramatic  stage  and 
interpret  the  whole  role  of  Lady  Macbeth  in  English  on 
the  night  of  July  3,  1882,  at  the  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
London.  The  anxiety  and  the  emotion  I  experienced 
that  evening,  I  could  not  describe.  Only  the  splendid 
success  I  achieved  enabled  me  to  banish  all  trepidation. 

People  came  to  my  dressing-room  from  all  over  the 
theatre  to  congratulate  me.  Some  of  my  most  intimate 
friends  however,  had  the  frankness  to  tell  me,  what  I 
knew  perfectly  well  myself,  that  I  had  not  been  able  to 
get  rid  entirely  of  my  Italian  intonation,  but  they  added 
that  its  soft  melody  produced  a  most  pleasing  effect  on 
the  ear.     After  a  series  of  performances  of  "Macbeth,"  I 


io8         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

produced,  also  in  English,  the  drama  "  Elizabeth ,  Queen 
of  England." 

At  the  first  performance,  though  the  audience  was  very- 
kind,  I  was  not  very  well  satisfied  with  myself.  Having 
for  so  many  years  previously  being  accustomed  to  the 
work  of  the  Italian  actors,  who  well  understood  the  inter- 
pretation given  to  every  situation  and  dramatic  effect 
proper  to  the  Italian  school  of  acting;  I  was  very  much 
preoccupied  with  the  difficulty  of  the  interrupted  dialogue 
of  that  drama,  so  different  from  the  sustained  method  of 
reading  the  lines  as  in  "  Macbeth  ;  "  so  that  I  found  myself 
very  much  embarrassed.  At  a  certain  moment,  I  felt 
my  courage  abandoning  me!  But  strong  feeling  in  re- 
gard to  my  assumed  task  sustained  and  saved  me.  I 
endeavoured  to  try  not  to  hear,  not  to  see  anything,  and 
finally  succeeded  in  ending  my  performance  with  results 
more  satisfactory  than  I  had  anticipated.  With  the 
following  performances,  everything  proceeded  smoothly 
and  each  one  was  better  and  better.  I  made  a  tour 
through  the  English  provinces,  during  the  months  of 
September,  October  and  November,  playing  these  two 
English  dramas,  with  most  flattering  results  everywhere. 
After  my  return  home  to  Rome,  in  the  year  1883,  I  had 
the  pleasure  during  that  winter  season,  of  playing  several 
times  for  charitable  purposes. 

Toward  the  latter  half  of  the  same  year  I  made  another 
trip  to  England,  playing  my  English  repertoire,  with  the 
addition  of  "Mary  Stuart"  and  "Marie  Antoinette." 

At  that  time,  I  had  made  an  engagement  for  another 
long  tour  through  North  America,  to  play  in  English  the 
dramas  which  had  been  so  well  received  in  the  United 
Kingdom.  I  was  staying  in  Paris,  awaiting  the  time  for 
the  departure  from  Havre  of  the  steamer  Saint  Germain, 
billed  for  the  i8th  of  October,  when  I  was  asked  to  take 
part  in  a  performance  to  be  given  on  the  15  th  of  the  same 
month  at  the  Theatre  des  Nations,  for  the  benefit  of 
cholera-stricken  people.  Other  actors  of  the  Comédie 
Frangaise  and  some  lyric  artists,  then  in  Paris,  were  going 
to  give  their  services.  My  baggage  was  all  ready  to  be 
shipped  and  I  had  none  of  my  Italian  actors  with  me; 
nevertheless  I  enthusiastically  accepted  the  invitation 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA  109 

for  the  sake  of  assisting  both  the  French  and  Italian 
victims  of  the  plague. 

My  brother  Caesar,  who  had  come  to  Paris  to  say  good- 
bye to  me,  consented  to  assist  me  together  with  an 
amateur  actress,  who  was  happy  to  assist  in  the  work  of 
charity.  I  was  thus  able  to  get  enough  characters  to- 
gether to  give  the  sleeping  scene  from  "Macbeth"  which 
requires  only  three  persons.  I  added  to  my  contribution 
to  the  performance  the  fifth  Canto  of  Dante's  Inferno, 
the  episode  of  Francesca  da  Rimini.  Thus,  before  leaving 
Europe  I  experienced  the  great  satisfaction  of  finding 
myself  once  again,  before  that  generous  Parisian  public 
which  had  procured  me  the  first  professional  joys  of  my 
career  away  from  Italy  and  opened  my  triumphal  path 
to  dramatic  success  all  over  the  civilised  world. 

Two  days  later  I  was  on  board  the  Saint  Germain  on 
my  way  to  the  United  States.  At  Philadelphia  I  began 
with  the  most  auspicious  prospects,  a  series  of  perfor- 
mances which  was  continued  in  the  other  principal  cities 
of  the  Union  and  Canada  during  a  period  of  seven  months. 

My  contract  expired  the  4th  of  May,  1885.  Before 
returning  home,  I  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  playing 
"Macbeth,"  with  the  renowned  actor  Edwin  Booth,  the 
Talma  of  the  United  States.  We  were  able  to  give  but 
a  single  performance  in  New  York,  on  the  evening  of  May 
7th,  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  It  was  a  most  artistic 
event  and  the  people  came  in  eager  crowds  filling  that 
immense  hall  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

Encouraged  by  such  results,  the  management  of  the 
permanent  German  Dramatic  Company,  playing  at  that 
time  at  the  Thalia  Theatre  in  New  York  offered  me  the 
most  alluring  inducements,  to  play  on  the  night  of  the 
12th,  Schiller's  "Mary  Stuart"  in  English,  while  the 
actors  of  that  company  who  were  to  be  my  support  should 
play  in  German! 

At  first  such  a  proposition  seemed  to  me  a  most  pre- 
posterous one!  I  knew  not  a  single  word  of  German. 
Still,  I  confess  that  the  originality  of  the  scheme  was 
rather  tempting.  I  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
by  giving  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  the  expression  of 
the  faces  of  my  interlocutors  and  with  an  analogous 


no         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

counterscene  at  the  time  when  I  did  not  have  to  speak, 
I  might  be  able  to  get  along  without  becoming  confused. 

After  a  short  hesitation  I  accepted  the  offer  of  the 
management,  and  the  strange  event  was  witnessed  in 
America,  of  an  Italian  actress  playing  in  English  with  a 
German  support! 

At  the  only  rehearsal  I  went  through  with  the  others, 
I  took  good  care  to  have  the  words  which  were  to  pre- 
cede my  answers  repeated  to  me  in  succession,  endeavour- 
ing to  retain  their  sound  in  my  ear.  On  the  evening  of 
the  performance  everything  went  along  with  regularity, 
and  the  performance  was  very  warmly  applauded,  and 
strange  illusion — the  greater  part  of  the  American 
audience  left  the  theatre  fully  convinced  that  I  was 
familiar  with  the  German  language! 

On  the  23d  of  May,  1885,  we  landed  at  Southampton. 
Before  leaving  the  steamer  Fulda,  a  magnificent  boat 
of  the  North  German  Lloyd  line,  we  wished  to  send  a 
salute  to  our  dear  country,  and  we  gave  a  toast  to  the 
prosperity  of  Italy  and  its  rulers.  King  Humbert  and 
Queen  Margherita.  All  the  congenial  companions  of  our 
voyage  joined  us  in  our  patriotic  demonstration. 

Although  leaving  so  many  sweet  remembrances  behind 
us,  we  were  nevertheless  happy  in  beholding  again  our 
old  Europe,  and  in  coming  to  the  end  of  a  trip  of  seven 
months  during  which  we  had  visited  sixty-two  cities  of 
the  New  World.  We  could  not  have  succeeded  in  going 
to  so  many  towns,  so  far  distant  one  from  the  other, 
were  it  not  for  the  industrial  genius  which  in  America 
has  produced  so  many  wonderful  things,  and  paramount 
to  everything  else,  a  comfortable  system  of  travelling 
which  had  so  facilitated  our  movements.  There  are  in  the 
United  States,  companies  which  rent  compartment- 
cars  by  the  week,  which  can  be  attached  to  a  train  going 
in  any  direction.  By  their  use  one  avoids  the  incon- 
venience of  stopping  at  second-class  hotels,  such  as  are 
apt  to  be  found  in  small  towns,  and  besides  one  is  not 
bothered  in  packing  up  belongings  at  every  station.  One 
can  live  in  a  compartment-car  as  if  in  one's  own  home  or 
on  board  a  yacht.  Such  a  system  of  locomotion  is  so 
well  established  in  the  routine  of  American  life,  that 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA  in 

everything  is  prepared  at  the  different  stations  for  night 
stops  and  for  the  provisioning  of  such  cars. 

Our  compartment-car  possessed  some  particular  com- 
forts. The  curtains  were  of  heavy  silk  material.  We 
had  on  board  a  piano,  a  library,  a  china-closet,  pictures 
and  also  flowering-plants'  which  accompanied  us  to  the 
coldest  countries.  We  had  hired  our  rolling-palace  for  a 
period  of  five  months,  and  often  spent  fifteen  days 
in  it  without  noticing  the  distances  we  ran  through. 
When  in  large  cities,  we  would  leave  the  car  to  go 
to  some  hotel,  while  the  two  coloured  porters  would 
take  care  of  it. 

It  was  not  without  much  regret  that  we  left  upon 
the  soil  of  the  New  World  that  delightful  habitation 
of  ours,  the  comforts  of  which  had  prevented  our 
experiencing  any  fatigue  during  such  long  and  tiring 
trips. 

The  principal  events  of  my  professional  career  are 
recorded  from  the  impressions  of  my  heart.  If  by  evok- 
ing my  own  recollections  I  have  had  to  make  mention 
many  times  of  the  applause  which  was  so  profusely 
lavished  upon  me,  it  is  because  my  personal  reminiscences 
are  identified  with  those  of  my  success,  and  above  all, 
because  in  recalling  the  latter  I  feel  a  most  legitimate 
sense  of  pride,  attributing  the  greater  part  of  the  homage 
paid  me,  at  home  and  abroad,  as  a  splendid  tribute  of 
appreciation  of  Italian  Dramatic  Art. 

The  readers  of  these  "Memoirs"  of  mine,  will  easily 
notice  that  I  have  set  aside  every  pretension  to  ability 
as  an  author  and  discarded  all  attempts  of  an  elaborate 
literary  style.  I  have  put  in  these  memoirs  my  im- 
pressions with  that  spontaneity  which  has  guided  all  my 
actions  through  my  professional  life,  as  it  has  directed 
the  expression  of  my  thoughts. 

As  there  is  an  old  saying  which  teaches  us  that  every 
written  page  contains  something  which  is  good,  so  I  dare 
hope  that  the  happenings  of  my  life,  which  began  so 
modestly,  and  the  struggles  I  went  through,  may 
serve  as  an  example  for  the  young,  who,  possessing  a 
serious  vocation  for  the  stage,  attempt  to  overcome  the 
difficulties  of  the  arduous  career  of  the  actor. 


112  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

And  now  farewell  to  all!  I  have  only  one  other  duty 
to  fulfil,  and  that  is  to  stretch  out  a  friendly  hand  to  all 
those  who  have  followed  me  across  the  two  worlds,  and 
to  those  who  have  so  kindly  assisted  me  and  contributed 
so  generously  to  my  triumphs! 


I 


PART  II 
ARTISTIC  AND  DRAMATIC  STUDIES 


CHAPTER  I 

Mary  Stuart — A  Tragedy  by  Schiller 

As  THE  main  object  of  this  work  is  to  benefit  dramatic  art, 
it  is  not  my  intention  either  to  enter  into  any  dissertation 
on  the  subject  of  this  tragedy  or  to  discuss  the  contrary 
opinions  given  forth  during  almost  three  centuries  by 
renowned  authors,  as  to  the  innocence  or  guilt  of  the 
unfortunate  Mary  Stuart.  I  shall  limit  myself  to  saying 
that  the  persecutions  this  martyr  had  to  suffer  seemed  to 
me  so  clear  and  authentic  that  they  served  as  a  guide  and 
inspiration  to  my  understanding  interpretation  of  the 
character. 

The  facts  to  which  I  intend  to  make  allusion  only 
succeeded  in  strengthening  my  conviction  that  Mary 
Stuart  was  the  victim  of  her  exceptional  beauty,  of  the 
fascination  she  exercised  upon  others  and  of  her  fervent 
Catholicism.  She  was  only  guilty  of  weaknesses  which 
would  have  been  unobserved  in  any  other  woman,  but 
which  were  very  much  exaggerated  by  those  who  were 
interested  in  the  ruin  of  Mary  Stuart.  No  allowance 
whatever  was  made  either  for  her  youth  or  the  times  in 
which  she  lived;  and  out  of  her  seeming  lightness  of 
character,  her  enemies  formed  the  base  of  that  frightful 
edifice  which  subsequently  crushed  her.  It  is  my  full 
conviction  that  the  accusations  against  her  were  a  source 
of  much  suffering  to  her,  and  particularly  the  accusation 
of  the  murder  of  her  husband  which  in  the  interest  of  her 
persecutors  was  rendered  more  heinous  by  enlargement 
of  details  and  the  thousand  revolting  denunciations  by 
which  it  was  accompanied.  I  believe  that  baseness, 
wickedness  and  deceit  conspired  together  to  bring  about 
the  downfall  of  the  unhappy  Queen  of  Scots. 

Everyone  knows  that  in  order  to  place  Mary  Stuart 
beyond  any  possibility  of  refuting  the  perfidious  accu- 
sations which  were  hurled  against  her,  she  was  held  a 

"5 


ii6         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

prisoner  for  nineteen  years,  during  which  time  the  un- 
happy queen,  with  letters,  protests  and  most  heart- 
rending petitions,  was  uselessly  asking  that  she  be  granted 
the  privilege  of  justifying  herself  before  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  before  the  Parliament,  regarding  the  vile  calumnies 
of  which  she  was  the  victim,  but  such  a  privilege  was 
never  granted  to  her.  This  is  an  evident  proof  that  her 
accusers  were  afraid  that  Mary  would  succeed  in  con- 
vincing the  people  of  her  innocence. 

How  could  she  defend  herself?  What  means,  what 
powder  could  she  oppose  to  so  many  factions  united  to 
ruin  her?  Her  voice  was  never  listened  to.  Every  kind 
of  defence  was  denied  to  her.  At  every  step  she  took, 
she  saw  herself  dragged  through  the  most  devilish  snares. 
During  her  life  of  forty-four  years  she  was  for  nineteen 
years  held  in  a  most  humiliating  and  painful  captivity. 
It  is  without  any  question,  as  many  of  her  historians 
assert,  that  the  behaviour  of  the  unfortunate  princess  was 
spotless  from  her  birth  to  the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Darn- 
ley.  Is  it  possible  to  conceive  that  a  gentle,  cultured  and 
prepossessing  person  like  Mary  Stuart,  gifted  as  she  was 
with  all  the  qualities  which  render  a  woman  highly 
estimable,  would  suddenly  renounce  all  her  virtues,  to 
become  the  victim  of  vice  and  accomplish  wickedness 
worthy  of  such  a  hardened  criminal,  as  her  enemies 
wished  to  make  her  appear? 

All  these  considerations  caused  that  sympathy  with 
which  I  was  filled  for  the  unhappy  queen  to  grow  in  me. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have  given  to  the  study  of  this 
character  all  the  impulses  of  my  soul,  in  order  to  strongly 
bring  out  the  nobility  of  the  nature,  the  dignity  of  the 
despised  queen,  the  sufferings  of  the  oppressed  victim 
and  the  resignation  of  the  martyr.  I  was  led  to  this  by 
the  careful  study  I  made  of  the  historical  period  in  which 
that  unfortunate  woman  lived  and  died.  Her  existence 
was  identified  with  the  investigations  that  I  have  also 
made  regarding  the  life  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Before  undertaking  my  analysis,  I  hope  it  may  not 
displease  the  reader  to  learn  under  what  circumstances 
I  began  the  study  of  this  most  important  work. 

Who  will  ever  believe  that  the  interpretation   of  a 


Copyright,  1905,  by  G.  Hever  &  Kirmse,  Ha  ensec,  Berhn.  \V. 


FREDERICK  JOHANN  VON  SCHILLER 

Famous  German  poet,     (i 759-1805) 


MARY  STUART  117 

character  so  difficult  as  that  of  Schiller's  Mary  Stuart 
could  be  entrusted  to  a  young  girl  of  eighteen,  who,  for 
the  first  time,  was  assuming  the  part  of  the  leading  lady? 
Still  that  happened  with  me. 

If  the  director — now  called  the  manager — of  an 
Italian  Dramatic  Company  books  an  actress  that  he  con- 
siders apt,  owing  either  to  her  looks  or  to  her  dramatic 
talent,  to  take  the  parts  of  the  leading  lady,  he  cares  little 
if  her  looks  be  not  in  accord  with  the  age  of  the  character 
she  is  to  represent. 

When  I  ended  my  engagement  with  the  Royal  Sar- 
dinian Company,  (as  I  have  already  mentioned  in  my 
Memoirs)  I  took  the  position  of  absolute  leading  lady 
with  the  Company  of  Romualdo  Mascherpa,  in  the  service 
of  the  Duchess  Marie  Louise,  of  Parma. 

Although  the  studies  I  went  through  during  the  con- 
secutive years  that  I  was  a  member  of  the  Royal  Com- 
pany had  given  me  a  good  deal  of  experience  of  the  stage, 
still  the  roles  of  leading  lady  intrusted  to  me  were  not 
suited  to  my  youth. 

When  my  father  booked  me  with  Mascherpa,  he  took 
into  consideration  that  at  that  time  tragedies  were  rarely 
played  by  travelling  companies,  and  that,  therefore,  I 
did  not  run  any  chance  of  having  to  assume  a  role  or  a 
responsibility  beyond  my  powers.  Contrary  to  these 
expectations,  without  paying  any  regard  to  my  short 
experience  and  my  youth,  my  new  manager  intrusted  to 
me  at  once  roles  of  the  most  important  and  serious 
character  and  which  are  usually  assigned  to  a  leading 
lady  of  long  experience. 

Signor  Mascherpa  was  an  excellent  old  man  of  the  old 
school,  but  not  exactly  an  authority  in  artistic  judgment. 
He  knew  that  he  was  using  his  own  right  to  intrust  to  me 
all  the  roles  for  which  he  had  booked  me  ;  consequently, 
"I  had  to  know  how  to  render  them." 

He  began  by  assigning  to  me  some  of  the  most  impor- 
tant parts,  and  they  were  such  that  though  the  repertoire 
of  one  dramatic  company  was  about  the  same  as  that  of 
another,  my  teacher,  Madame  Marchionni,  who  was  no 
longer  very  young,  had  given  up  many  roles,  and  as  I 
never  had  the  opportunity  to  see  her  play  them,  I  was  not 


ii8         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

given  even  the  advantage  of  imitating  her.  In  the  city 
of  Turin  when  they  asked  me  to  study  the  role  of  Mary 
Stuart  I  saw  myself  lost!  Even  the  growing  appreciation 
of  the  public  was  not  sufdcient  to  encourage  me,  as  I 
attributed  my  success  mostly  to  my  looks  and  youth,  nor 
was  the  encouragement  of  my  relatives  and  my  intimate 
friends  sufificient  to  reassure  me.  Still,  in  order  to  fulfil 
the  obligations  I  had  assumed,  I  had  forcibly  to  yield, 
recommending  myself  to  all  my  protecting  saints  for  the 
success  of  the  undertaking.  With  the  greatest  zeal,  and 
without  any  delay,  I  not  only  began  to  learn  the  lines  of 
Andrea  Mafifei — the  translator  of  the  tragedy  of  Mary 
Stuart  into  Italian — but  I  also  read  many  passages  of 
history  in  relation  to  the  unhappy  queen. 

I  had  been  granted  a  very  short  time  to  accomplish 
my  task.  Besides,  I  had  to  provide  myself  with  the 
appropriate  costumes.  During  the  period  of  time  I  had 
passed  with  the  Royal  Sardinian  Company,  I  had  played 
some  small  tragic  parts,  but  never  one  as  important  as 
this.  It  is  true,  that  they  were  always  telling  me,  that 
I  possessed  all  the  necessary  qualifications  for  the  inter- 
pretation of  tragic  roles,  and  added  that  I  would  become 
proficient  with  study  and  practice.  Nevertheless,  I 
never  should  have  thought  that  they  would  initiate  me  by 
such  an  apprenticeship. 

The  night  preceding  my  first  performance,  as  all  may 
imagine,  I  did  not  close  an  eye.  I  felt  feverish  and 
unequal  to  the  task.  It  seemed  as  if  I  were  already  before 
the  audience  and  that  I  heard  it  grumble  about  my 
inefficiency.  All  the  eyes  I  saw  directed  at  me  were  like 
sharp  points  torturing  me.  If  for  a  minute  I  could  aban- 
don myself  to  sleep,  I  saw  the  strangest  and  most  oppres- 
sive visions.  Under  the  horrible  incubus,  it  seemed  as 
if  I  heard  murmuring  from  every  direction:  "Poor  child, 
she  will  never  be  up  to  the  task!"  And  the  curtain 
would  come  down  slowly  in  the  midst  of  a  general  silence — 
not  even  a  friendly  hand  would  applaud  me.  Then  I 
felt  my  heart  violently  palpitating;  big  drops  of  per- 
spiration covered  my  forehead.  My  dear  mother,  always 
good  and  caressing,  came  and  woke  me  up  from  that 
painful  sleep.     The  light  of  the  sun  dissipated  my  sad 


MARY  STUART  119 

thoughts,  and  the  terror  of  which  I  was  a  victim  ceased 
to  oppress  me. 

The  dreaded  evening  of  the  performance  came!  The 
audience  was  conscious  of  my  trepidation;  it  knew  all 
the  efforts  I  had  gone  through,  and  was  disposed  to  be 
indulgent.  On  making  my  appearance  upon  the  stage, 
the  public  noticed  the  care  I  had  taken  in  studying  my 
character,  a  precaution  that,  owing  to  the  customs  of 
Italy  at  that  time,  was  generally  much  neglected. 

My  bearing,  the  costume  I  wore,  my  strictly  historical 
make-up,  the  oval  shape,  and  the  pallor  of  my  face — the 
latter  due  to  the  fear  which  oppressed  me — my  blonde 
hair,  all  of  which  portrayed  so  well  the  unhappy  queen, 
caused  me  to  enlist  from  the  start  the  sympathy  of  the 
audience,  which,  with  uproarious  applause,  encouraged 
me  and  made  me  feel  certain  of  its  indulgence. 

I  acted  my  best,  and  the  audience  was  most  appre- 
ciative, especially  at  the  end  of  the  third  act,  which  is  the 
climax  of  the  play.  When  the  curtain  dropped,  I  was 
called  out  several  times  and  the  most  flattering  exclama- 
tions of  enthusiasm  were  repeated  to  me  from  every 
direction.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  conquered  the 
world,  and  I  was  certain  that  my  manager  would  be 
proud  of  my  work  and  would  hasten  to  encourage  me, 
expressing  to  me  his  perfect  satisfaction  at  the  great 
success  of  this  trial  performance. 

The  reader  may  easily  imagine  how  I  felt,  when  seeing 
him  I  said  with  childish  eagerness  :  "  I  hope  you  are 
pleased  with  me!  "  and  the  good  old  gentleman,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  frowning  and  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
answered  me  this:  "Listen,  my  dear  child,  you  have  a 
marked  tendency  for  comedy;  but  tragedy,  let  me  tell 
you,  is  not  exactly  suited  to  you.  Therefore  I  advise 
you  to  give  it  up  entirely." 

It  is  true  that  I  was  inclined  to  comedy,  but  I  believed 
that  later  I  should  also  succeed  in  tragedy!  Hearing  the 
manager  I  was  petrified!  Certainly  I  had  not  then  inter- 
preted that  role  as  I  later  perfected  it  after  careful  and 
profound  study,  still  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  inter- 
pretation had  not  deserved  such  discouraging  advice. 

It  was  then  that  I  effectually  persuaded  myself  of  the 


I20         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

importance  of  the  expression  of  the  face,  the  bearing  and 
the  carriage  that  I  should  have  in  presenting  myself  on 
the  stage  under  the  role  of  that  unhappy  Queen  of  Scots. 
My  face  had  to  bear  the  expression  of  a  woman  in  whom 
torture  and  persecution  had  not  been  able  to  efface  that 
force  of  character  with  which  she  stood  her  martyrdom 
during  the  second  part  of  her  existence. 

Thus  invested,  without  losing  control  of  myself,  and 
with  resigned  and  patient  expression,  I  would  listen  to 
Hannah  Kannedy  tell  how  Paulet  had  brutally  broken 
the  queen's  chest,  taken  the  papers  away,  the  jewels  and 
even  the  crown  of  France,  which  Mary  Stuart  was  most 
jealously  preserving  as  a  remembrance  of  her  past  great- 
ness; moreover,  for  the  sake  of  proving  that  earthly 
power  had  no  longer  any  claim  upon  her,  the  queen  would 
say: 

"Compose  yourself,  my  Hannah!  and  believe  me, 
'Tis  not  these  baubles  which  can  make  a  queen  : 
Basely  indeed  they  may  behave  to  us, 
But  they  cannot  debase  us.     I  have  learnt 
To  use  myself  to  many  a  change  in  England  ; 
I  can  support  this  too."  .     . 

Act  I,  Scene  ii. 

Then,  addressing  myself  to  Paulet,  in  a  calm  and 
dignified  manner  I  would  go  through  that  short  scene  I 
had  with  him;  and  to  the  disdain  of  Hannah  who  could 
hardly  bear  to  see  me  treated  with  so  much  roughness  by 
my  jailer,  I  would  oppose  an  angelic  patience.  It  was 
due  to  the  profound  conviction  I  felt  of  the  innocence  of 
Mary,  that  I  could  say  without  any  emphasis  the  verses 
in  which  Schiller  causes  Mary  to  accuse  herself  of  com- 
plicity in  the  murder  of  Lord  Darnley  (one  can  notice 
that  he  was  led  into  error  by  the  historians  Hume  and 
Buchanan,  who  were  prejudiced  against  Mary  Stuart). 
Through  the  scene  of  Mary  with  Mortimer,  I  could  show 
that  from  time  to  time  a  ray  of  hope  had  come  to  clear 
the  clouds  of  her  awakened  existence,  causing  her  to 
perceive  the  possibility  of  liberation.  But  on  turning  her 
gaze  around  at  the  sight  of  the  gloomy  walls  which  en- 
compassed her,  the  consideration  of  her  misery  would 
dissipate  that  flash  of  light  which  for  a  moment  had  pene- 
trated her  soul  and  deceive  her. 


MARY  STUART  121 

My  heart  opened  freely  in  the  presence  of  Mortimer, 
perceiving  in  him  my  consoling  angel  sent  to  me  by  God 
in  order  to  set  me  free,  while  in  the  following  scene  my 
behaviour  was  different  at  the  sight  of  the  perfidious 
Cecil  Burleigh,  the  perverted  adviser  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

At  his  approach,  followed  by  Paulet,  I  assumed  again 
all  the  haughtiness  of  my  rank  in  order  to  confound  and 
lower  the  arrogance  of  my  persecutors.  Hearing  myself 
accused  by  Cecil — in  an  insolent  tone — of  the  complicity 
in  the  conspiracy  of  Babington,  and  of  rebellion  against 
the  laws  of  England,  I  assumed  all  the  just  haughtiness 
of  the  offended  queen,  of  the  calumniated  woman,  of  the 
oppressed  stranger,  and  I  would  answer  : 


"That  ev'ry  one  who  stands  arraign 'd  of  crime 
Shall  plead  before  a  jury  of  his  equals: 
Who  is  my  equal  in  this  high  commission? 

Kings  only  are  my  peers."  

Act  I,  Scene  vii. 


(Historical  words)  While  Burleigh  was  telling  me  that 
I  had  already  heard  the  accusations  of  the  tribunal; 
that  I  was  living  under  the  British  sky  and  breathing  its 
air;  that  I  found  myself  under  the  protection  of  the 
British  laws,  and  therefore  I  had  to  respect  its  decrees — 
I  would  turn  suddenly  to  him,  and,  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eyes  with  a  frowning  gaze,  full  of  wrath,  would  say 
with  a  bantering  smile  : 


"Sir,  I  breathe 
"The  air  within  an  English  prison's  walls: 
Is  that  to  live  in  England  ;  to  enjoy 
Protection  from  its  laws?  I  scarcely  know 
And  never  have  pledg'd  my  faith  to  keep  them. 
I  am  no  member  of  this  realm  ;  I  am 
An  independent,  and  a  foreign  queen — " 

Act  I,  Scene  vii. 


Continuing  in  the  same  tone  of  voice,  I  refuted,  one  by 
one,  all  the  shameful  and  false  accusations  that  he  threw 
at  me.  But  at  last,  noticing  that  my  denials  and  defence 
were  useless,  in  a  voice  which  betrayed  my  emotion,  and 


122 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


which  I  had  intentionally  repressed  to  that  moment,  I 
gave  the  lines: 

"I  am  the  weak;  she  is  the  mighty  one; 
'Tis  well,  my  Lord;  let  us  use  her  pow'r; 
Let  her  destroy  me:  let  me  bleed,  that  she 
May  live  secure:  but  let  her  confess 
That  she  hath  exercised  her  pow'r  alone, 
And  not  contaminate  the  name  of  justice." 

Act  I,  Scene  vii. 

The  author  protracts  this  scene  intentionally  in  order 
to  allow  the  passionate  tension  of  Mary  to  be  extended. 
By  interrupting  its  execution,  I  would  follow  with  my 
accent,  with  my  expression,  the  run  of  the  scene  until  all 
my  bitterness  would  overflow  with  the  words  : 

"Let  her  not  barrow  the  laws,  the  sword 
To  rid  her  of  her  hated  enemy  : 
Let  her  not  clothe,  in  this  religious  garb, 
The  bloody  daring  of  licentious  might  : 
Let  not  these  juggling  tricks  deceive  the  world." 

Act  I,  Scene  vii. 

Then,  giving  full  swing  to  my  indignation,  turning  with 
a  contemptuous  expression  to  those  who  seemed  anxious 
to  humiliate  my  royal  power,  I  would  say: 

"Though  she  may  miirder  me,  she  cannot  judge  me: 
Let  her  no  longer  strive  to  join  the  fruits 
Of  vice  with  virtue's  fair  and  angel  show; 
But  let  her  dare  to  seem  the  thing  she  is.  " 

Act  I,  Scene  vii. 

Thus  the  reader  may  imagine,  better  than  I  can  express, 
what  a  crushing  look  I  threw  at  Lord  Burleigh  while 
rapidly  leaving  the  stage. 

In  the  third  act  is  evidently  demonstrated  how  even  a 
noble  and  lofty  soul,  filled  with  religious  faith,  accustomed 
to  suffer  and  resigned  to  all  the  blows  of  misfortune,  may 
forget  herself,  lose  her  self-control  and  be  transformed 
into  another  being,  when  insolence  and  perversity 
overstep  the  bounds  of  human  patience. 

Followed  by  my  faithful  Hannah,  I  entered  the  stage 
with  long  hurried  strides,  filled  with  joy,  feeling  exhilarated 
by  the  balmy  air  of  the  park,  which,  caressed  my  face, 
and  infused  a  new  vigour  into  my  wearied  body. 


MARY  STUART  123 

Fully  absorbed  in  the  situation,  and  wishing  to  incite 
the  spectators  to  feel  the  emotion  that  I  felt,  I  portrayed 
the  merriment  with  which  I  was  filled  at  that  moment, 
to  mark  more  strongly  the  desolating  and  bitter  contrast 
of  the  atrocious  pains  and  indignities  which  I  was  at 
other  times  called  upon  to  suffer.  And  in  order  to  demon- 
strate the  reasonableness  and  the  truth  of  this  inter- 
pretation, it  will  suffice  to  follow  with  one's  thought  the 
reading  of  these  lines: 

"Freedom  returns!  O  let  me  enjoy  it, 
Let  me  be  childish,  be  childish  with  me! 
Freedom  invites  me!   O  let  me  employ  it, 
Skimming  with  winged  step  light  o'er  the  lea; 
Have  I  escaped  from  this  mansion  of  mourning? 
Holds  me  no  more  the  sad  dungeon  of  care? 
Let  me,  with  joy  and  with  eagerness  burning, 
Drink  in  the  free,  the  celestial  air!" 

Act  III,  Scene  i. 

So  much  abandon,  so  much  sweetness  had  soon  to  give 
place  to  the  most  terrible  emotions.  At  the  announce- 
ment granting  me  a  meeting  with  Elizabeth  (which  is 
entirely  and  skilfully  imagined  by  the  dramatic  genius 
of  Schiller,  and  which  forms  the  climax  of  this  act),  I 
changed  suddenly  my  composure,  I  trembled,  I  wished 
to  move  away,  and  nothing  could  better  describe  the 
reality  of  my  state  of  mind,  than  the  following  verses 
which  I  answered  the  words  of  Talbot,  who  was  using  his 
ability  to  persuade  me  to  have  a  meeting  with  my  rival  : 

"For  years  I've  waited,  and  prepared  myself. 
For  this  I've  studied,  weigh 'd  and  written  down 
Each  word  within  the  tablet  of  my  mem'ry. 
That  was  to  touch,  and  move  her  compassion. 
Forgotten  suddenly,  effac'd  is  all. 
And  nothing  lives  within  me  at  this  moment. 
But  the  fierce,  burning  feeling  of  my  wrongs. 
My  heart  is  turn'd  to  direct  hate  against  her; 
All  gentle  thoughts,  all  sweet  forgiving  words 
Are  gone,  and  round  me  stand  with  grisly  mien. 
The  friends  of  hell,  and  shake  their  snaky  locks." 

Act  III,  Scene  ii. 

Then,  being  struck  by  the  persuasive  words  and  affec- 
tionate advice  of  Talbot,  to  induce  me  to  meet  Elizabeth 


124         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

with  a  serene  mind,  but  still  filled  with  deep  sadness, 
I  say: 

'  '  We  never  should  have  seen  each  other — never  ! 
O,  this  can  never,  never  come  to  good." 

Act  III,  Scene  iii. 

Being  very  much  disturbed  also  by  the  presence  of 
Burleigh,  my  most  bitter  enemy,  when  I  learn  that  Lei- 
cester alone  accompanies  Elizabeth,  I  repeat  that  name 
with  a  cr}^  of  joy.  When  the  queen  arrives,  I  withdraw 
quickly  to  the  back  of  the  stage,  hiding  myself  among  the 
plants,  though  in  a  position  for  observation  in  order  to 
scrutinise  the  face  of  my  persecutor.  After  that,  having 
heard  the  words  of  Elizabeth,  who  pretends  that  she  is 
addressing  them  to  her  suite,  and  which  she  accentuates 
with  bombastic  vanity  with  the  evident  object  of  making 
the  unhappy  prisoner  know  the  love  that  her  people  felt 
for  her,  I  exclaim  with  an  air  of  great  sadness  : 

"O  God;  from  out  these  features  speaks  no  heart.  " 

Act  III,  Scene  iv. 

In  the  meanwhile,  both  Hannah  and  Talbot,  with  en- 
treating signs,  are  encouraging  me  to  approach  and 
prostrate  myself  at  the  feet  of  Elizabeth,  though  I  am 
feigning  a  strong  resistance.  Yielding  at  last  to  their 
repeated  requests,  w4th  an  evident  effort  and  uncertain 
step,  I  approach  the  queen  to  kneel  down  before  her, 
making  it  very  evident  how  much  it  costs  my  dignity  to 
perform  that  act. 

Hardly  has  my  knee  touched  the  soil,  than  respect  for 
myself  makes  me  incapable  of  enduring  such  a  himiiliation, 
causes  me  to  draw  back  quickly  with  disdain,  as  if  I  were 
saying:  "No,  I  cannot,"  and  fall  back  in  the  arms  of 
Hannah,  She,  kneeling  down,  endeavouring  to  persuade 
me  not  to  persist  in  my  refusal,  makes  appeal  to  my 
religious  faith  and  to  the  force  of  circumstances. 

Then,  with  an  effort  at  self-control  I  affectionately 
cause  my  faithful  nurse  to  rise,  showing  my  innate  aver- 
sion to  w^hat  she  asks  of  me,  and  say  with  a  sigh  : 

"Well  be  it  so:     to  this  will  I  submit, 
Farewell  high  thoughts,  and  pride  of  noble  mind!" 

Act  III,  Scene  iv. 


MARY  STUART  125 

Then  with  the  intonation  of  voice  suited  to  the  follow- 
ing verses,  I  add: 

"I  will  forget  my  dignity,  and  all 
My  suflferings;  I  will  fall  before  her  feet, 
Who  hath  reduced  me  to  this  wretchedness.* 

After  such  virtuous  resignation,  my  eyes  raised  to  Heaven, 
pressing  against  my  heart  the  crucifix  attached  to  my 
rosary  which  hangs  by  my  side,  I  offer  to  God  the  sacri- 
fice of  my  dignity,  and  collecting  myself  for  a  few 
moments,  as  if  invoking  the  Lord  to  give  me  courage,  with 
a  firm  voice  and  in  a  quiet  tone  I  would  say  to  Elizabeth  : 

"The  voice  of  Heav'n  decides  for  you,  my  sister; 
Your  happy  brows  are  now  with  triumph  crown'd." 

Then,  suddenly  stopping,  I  express  with  marked 
hesitation  how  painful  it  is  for  me  to  raise  the  pride  of  my 
implacable  enemy  by  lowering  myself  before  her  in  the 
presence  of  her  courtiers;  but  as  with  an  instantaneous 
inspiration,  kneeling  vehemently  down,  I  say  : 

"I  bless  the  Power  Divine,  which  thus  hath  rais'd  you,  " 

It  is  evident,  that  the  author,  in  this  most  happy 
passage,  wishes  to  show  the  public  that  it  is  not  to  Eliza- 
beth, but  to  the  Supreme  Being,  that  Mary  is  humbling 
herself. 

After  a  short  pause,  with  a  supplicating  intonation, 
I  continue: 

"But  in  your  turn  be  merciful,  my  sister; 
Let  me  not  lie  before  you  thus  disgraced  ; 
Stretch  forth  your  hand,  your  royal  hand,  to  raise 
Your  sister  from  the  depth  of  her  distress." 

With  a  sign  of  royal  condescension  from  Elizabeth 
I  rise  sadly  sighing.  Then  in  a  submissive  and  resigned 
tone  of  voice  I  answer  her  accusations  and,  recounting 
the  catalogue  of  injustices  siiffered ,  I  call  God  to  witness, 
being  forced  to  accuse  her  in  spite  of  myself,  and  show 
her  that  she  has  been  neither  pitiful  nor  just  to  me  ;  that 
though  I  am  her  equal,  she,  trampling  on  the  rights  of 
the  people  and  of  hospitality,  and  taking  no  heed  of  my 
appeal  for  assistance,  has  inclosed  me  in  a  living  tomb 


126  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

has  taken  my  friends  and  servants  away,  and  as  a  crown- 
ing ignominy,  has  dragged  me  before  some  insolent  courts. 
Then,  after  a  motion  of  resentment  that  EHzabeth  makes 
at  this  point  I  change  my  language,  which  has  gradually 
grown  embittered,  and  add  : 

"Now  stand  we  face  to  face;  now,  sister  speak; 
Name  but  my  crime.     I'll  fully  satisfy  you." 

But  the  inhuman  Elizabeth  cannot  refrain  from  saying 
to  Mary; 

"My  better  stars  preserv'd  me.     I  was  warn'd, 
And  laid  not  to  my  breast  the  poisonous  adder! 
Accuse  no  fate!   your  own  deceitful  heart 
It  was,  the  wild  ambition  of  your  house  : 
As  yet  no  enmities  had  pass'd  between  us, 
When  3'our  imperious  uncle,  the  proud  priest. 
Whose  shameless  hand  grasps  at  all  crowns,  attack't  me, 
With  unprovoked  hostility,  and  taught 
You,  but  too  docile,  to  assume  my  arms, 
To  vest  yourself  with  my  imperial  title." 


Mary,  hearing  the  offensive  way  in  which  Elizabeth 
speaks  of  the  Pontiff,  and  learning  that  she  attributes 
faults  to  herself  that  she  has  never  committed,  conspir- 
acies in  which  she  never  has  taken  any  part,  turns  her 
eyes    upward   saying  : 

"I'm  in  the  hand  of  Heav'n!" 

Then,  addressing  herself  to  Elizabeth: 

"You  never  will 
Exert  so  cruelly  the  pow'r  it  gives  you." 

— "And  who  shall  prevent  me?" 

She  answers  in  an  arrogant  tone  of  voice. 

Not  a  single  one  of  the  passages  of  this  great  scene  was 
neglected  by  me  to  that  I  might  make  people  understand 
the  crucial  pain  I  was  suffering  in  enduring  the  indignity 
of  Elizabeth's  procedure,  at  times  imploring,  with  my 
gestures,  the  help  of  Heaven,  now  imploring,  with  my 
look,  some  comfort  from  Talbot,  whom  I  held  responsible 
for  the  unjust  provocation  of  my  rival.     Still  my  soul 


MARY  STUART  127 

was  ready  to  rebel  when  she  comes  to  the  malignant 
words  : 

"Force  is  my  only  surety  ;  no  alliance 
Can  be  concluded  with  a  race  of  vipers." 

Listening  to  such  words  I  simulate  a  fainting  spell.  I 
stagger,  .  .  .  Hannah  and  Talbot  run  quickly  to 
my  assistance;  with  expressive  gestures  I  affably  thank 
them,  begging  them  not  to  leave  me  alone,  showing  that 
I  have  recovered  from  the  prostration  with  which  I  had 
been  for  an  instant  assailed.  But  feeling  fully  convinced 
by  the  bitter  and  sneering  tone,  with  which  Elizabeth  so 
insolently  attacked  me,  that  it  is  vain  to  hope  that  she 
will  recognise  not  only  my  innocence,  but  even  my 
legitimate  rights,  and  persuaded  that  it  is  necessary  for 
me  to  renounce  them  for  ever,  I  slowly  turn  my  head 
toward  her,  and  with  a  long  penetrating  look,  accom- 
panied by  a  light  ironical  smile  which  meant:  "You 
cowardly  abuse  the  power  that  makes  you  mighty  toward 
the  conquered  one  !  '  '  while  an  impetus  of  revolt  against 
my  unhappy  lot  urges  me  to  ask  God,  with  a  bitter  ex- 
pression, if  I  have  merited  such  a  terrible  punishment! 
Still  the  religious  sentiment  resuming  its  place  in  my 
mind,  I  ask  the  Lord  for  forgiveness  for  my  uncontroll- 
able transport,  and,  sighing,  I  bend  my  head  with  resigna- 
tion like  a  creature  which  gives  in  to  a  superior  force,  and, 
offering  my  martyrdom  to  God,  with  a  noticeable  effort, 
but  in  a  dignified  way,  I  resume  : 

"O  sister,  rule  your  realm  in  peace: 
I  give  up  ev'ry  claim  to  these  domains — 
Alas!  the  pinions  of  my  soul  are  lam'd; 
Greatness  entices  me  no  more;  your  point 
Is  gain'd;  I  am  but  Mary's  shadow  now — 
My  noble  spirit  is  at  last  broken  down 
By  long  captivity:  you've  done  your  most 
On  me;  you  have  destroyed  me  in  my  bloom! 
Now,  end  your  work,  my  sister;  speak  at  length 
The  word,  which  to  pronounce  has  brought  you  hither; 
For  I  will  ne'er  believe,  that  you  are  come, 
To  mock  unfeelingly  your  hapless  victim. 
Pronounce  this;  say  Mary,  you  are  free: 
You  have  already  felt  my  pow'r,  learn  now 
To  honour  too,  my  generosity." 

Penetrating  the  conception  of  the  poet  who  has  analysed 
the  character  of  that  unhappy  creature,  I  interpreted  the 


128         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

above  passage  showing  resentment  and  pathos,  as  if  the 
humble  intonation  of  the  word  was  the  expression  of  a 
flying  hope  to  be  able  to  move  to  pity  my  rival.  There- 
fore, I  pronounce  in  a  most  affectionate  tone  : 

"O  Sister" 

with  the  hope  of  succeeding  in  moving  her  heart. 

But  the  character  of  Elizabeth,  according  to  the  inten- 
tion of  the  poet  and  the  requirements  of  the  history,  should 
never  change.  During  the  pathetic  invocation  of  Mary, 
she  assumes  an  air  of  such  contemptuous  disdain,  and 
looks  so  sharply,  with  such  an  icy  expression,  at  her 
victim,  that  Mary  says  : 

"For  the  realms  encircled  by  the  deep 
Would  I  exchange  my  present  lot  for  yours." 

This  just  and  natural  outbreak,  far  from  shaking 
Elizabeth,  only  serves  to  increase  her  wTath,  and  leads 
her  to  give  vent  more  vehemently  to  the  aversion  she 
feels  for  Mary.  Then,  without  any  reserve  or  any  con- 
sideration for  the  rank  of  her  oppressed  rival,  she  attacks 
her  with  brutal  satisfaction,  and  as  if  to  remind  her  of 
the  prestige  she  has  lost  questions  her: 

"No  more  assassins 
Now  on  the  road?  Will  no  adventurer, 
Attempt  again,  for  you,  the  sad  achievement?" 

Listening  to  such  an  outrageous  insult,  a  flush  of  blood 
rushes  to  my  face,  and  I  act  as  if  about  to  throw  myself 
upon  her,  exclaiming: 

"Oh  Lord!     .     .     .     Sister     ..." 

but  both  Talbot  and  Hannah  run  to  me,  hold  me  back 
and  quiet  me  ;  then  making  a  superhuman  effort  to  con- 
trol my  wrath,  I  rapidly  and  convulsively  press  my 
rosary  upon  my  chest,  crying  : 

"Grant  me  forbearance " 

It  is  the  predominating  religious  sentiment  which 
almost  immediately  quenches  my  aggressive  spirit.  In 
order  to  keep  up  the  contrast  of  our  sentiments,  Elizabeth 
looks  at  me  with  crushing  disdain,  scoffing  at  Lord 
Leicester  for  having  often  proclaimed  that  one  could  not 


MARY  STUART  129 

look  at  Mary  without  being  punished,  as  her  beauty  could 
not  be  compared  to  that  of  any  other  woman  on  earth; 
and  in  order  to  carry  her  perfidy  to  a  climax,  with  a  sneer- 
ing smile  she  says  : 

"She  who  to  all  is  common,  may  with  ease 
Become  the  common  object  of  applause." 

At  such  a  hideous  outrage,  my  long-repressed  wrath 
overflows  and  I  cry: 

" this  is  too  much!" 

And  as  the  wicked  mind  of  Elizabeth  is  not  yet  satisfied, 
in  a  diabolical  voice  she  adds  : 

".     .  .     You  show  us  now,  indeed. 

Your  real  face,  till  now  'twas  but  the  mask." 

At  this  point,  I  want  to  speak,  but  cannot,  owing  to 
the  paroxysm  of  rage,  which  has  discoloured  my  face  and 
caused  my  body  to  tremble  all  over.  Then,  with  great 
difficulty  and  in  a  suffocating  voice,  interrupting  myself, 
I  begin  my  invective  : 

"My  sins  were  human,  and  the  faults  of  youth; 
Superior  force  misled  me.     I  have  never 
Denied  or  sought  to  hide  it  :  I  despis'd 
All  false  appearance  and  became  a  queen!" 

Then,  taking  courage,  and  showing  that  I  am  giving 
vent  to  the  hatred  long  repressed,  and  wishing  to  return 
insult  for  insult  to  the  one  who  has  so  wilfully  humiliated 
me  in  the  presence  of  all,  I  proceed  : 

"The  worst  of  me  is  known,  and  I  can  say, 
That  I  am  better  than  the  fame  I  bear." 

Then  moving  near  her  I  would  add: 

"  Woe  to  you!  when,  in  time  to  come,  the  world 
Shall  draw  the  robe  of  honour  from  your  deeds 
With   which  they   arch — hypocrisy   has   veil'd 
The  raging  flames  of  lawless  secret  lust  !  '  ' 

And,  showing  that  my  paroxysm  of  fury  has  reached 
its  height,  in  a  strong  voice,  and  with  darting  glances,  I 
cry: 

'''Virtue  was  not  your  portion  from  your  mother; 
Well  know  we  what  it  was  which  brought  the  head 
Of  Anne  Boleyn  to  the  fatal  block!     .     .     .     ." 


I30         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

I  would  then  remain  motionless,  casting  piercing 
glances  at  Elizabeth,  and  making  those  present  compre- 
hend that  I  had  reached  the  height  of  my  joy,  in  having 
succeeded  in  my  turn  in  humiliating  my  enemy.  Eliza- 
beth being  deeply  wounded  by  my  audacity  casts  furious 
glances  at  me,  while  both  Paulet  and  Leicester  run  to 
her  to  endeavour  to  soothe  her  anger,  w^hile  Talbot  and 
Hannah,  frightened  though  they  be,  advance  toward  me. 
The  former,  with  authority  becoming  his  age  and  with 
the  devotion  he  has  shown  me  for  many  years,  interposes 
the   following  reproof: 

"Is  this  the  moderation,  the  submission 
My  Lady? " 

to  which,  feeling  beside  myself  I  answer: 

".     .     .     .     Moderation!  I've  supported 
What  human  nature  can  support  :  farewell, 
Lamb-hearted  resignation,  passive  patience, 
Fly  to  thy  native  heaven;  burst  at  length 
In  all  thy  fury,  long-suppressed  rancour! 
And  thou,  who  to  the  anger 'd  basilisk 
Impart 'st  the  murderous  glance,  O,  arm  my  tongue 
With    pois'n    darts! " 

During  this  speech  everyone  is  moving  toward  Eliza- 
beth trying  to  persuade  her  to  pass  out  .  .  .  while 
I,  raging  and  endeavouring  to  think  of  a  more  terrible 
insult  than  those  I  had  already  thrown  at  her,  and  again 
facing  her,  and  without  further  restraint,  I  cry: 

" A  bastard  soils, 

Profanes  the  English  throne!  The  generous  Britons 
Are  cheated  by  a  juggler  (whose  whole  figure 
Is  false  and  painted,  heart  as  well  as  face!) 
If  right  prevail 'd,  you  now  would  in  the  dust 
Before  me  lie,  for  I'm  your  rightful  monarch!" 

While  uttering  these  words  I  stand  erect  in  a  menacing 
posture. 

Elizabeth,  then  ridding  herself  from  the  grasp  with 
which  Talbot  and  Leicester  try  to  hold  her,  endeavours 
to  throw  herself  upon  me,  but  with  an  imposing  mien  of 
lèse  majesté,  I  point  her  to  the  exit,  and  Elizabeth 
with  much  hesitation  and  forcibly  torn  away  by  her 
courtiers  slowly  moves  out.      Seeing  her  go,  I  feel  that 


MARY  STUART  131 

I  have  conquered  her,  and  grasping  the  hand  of  Hannah 
in  a  transport  of  joy,  coming  forward  to  the  footlights, 
I  say: 

" Gone   hence   in   wrath! 

She  carries  death  within  her  heart!  I  know  it. 
Now  I  am  happy,  Hannah,  and,  at  last 
After  whole  years  of  sorrow  and  abasement 
One  moment  of  victorious  revenge!" 

I  then  leave  the  stage,  with  long  strides,  followed  by 
Hannah. 

From  the  remarks  made  here,  the  reader  will  under- 
stand that  in  representing  this  third  act,  the  most  striking 
feature  of  the  drama,  I  above  all  endeavoured  to  bring 
into  striking  contrast  the  different  characters  of  the  two 
queens,  who  were  at  the  same  time  rivals,  one  unhappy, 
the  other  most  powerful  and  already  conscious  of  the 
wicked  purpose  of  slaying  her  victim. 

In  order  to  appreciate  to  its  full  extent  the  justice  of 
this  interpretation,  it  is  well  to  remember  what  has  been 
already  mentioned,  that  is,  that  the  meeting  of  the  two 
queens  was  boldly  introduced  by  the  author,  in  order  to 
have  the  chance  of  taking  advantage  of  the  dramatic 
effect  produced  by  such  contrasts;  and  for  the  sake  of 
making  a  conspicuous  feature  of  the  loftiness  of  the  nature 
of  Mary,  who  knew  herself  to  be  a  queen. 

I  took  care  to  bring  into  marked  relief  the  religious 
sentiment  with  which  Mary  was  pervaded,  a  most  essen- 
tial manifestation,  which  could  not  be  detached  from  the 
excited  state  of  mind  of  the  woman. 

As  the  reader  knows,  Mary  Stuart  does  not  appear  in 
the  fourth  act  of  the  drama.  But  before  I  begin  my 
analytical  study  of  the  fifth  act,  it  is  justifiable  to  precede 
it  by  telling  the  reasons  which  have  induced  me  not  to 
take  into  consideration  all  the  indications  of  Schiller, 
concerning  the  costumes  which  Mary  Stuart  should  wear 
in  the  fifth  act. 

The  opinions  concerning  the  dress  that  the  miserable 
Mary  Stuart  should  wear  in  the  act  of  her  execution,  are 
very  contradictory.  Therefore,  I  feel  justified  in  stating 
that  the  cause  of  all  this  diversity  of  views  is  based  upon 
the  fantastic  imagination  of  painters  and  writers.     There 


132         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

are  some  who  send  her  to  death  dressed  entirely  in  black, 
others,  dressed  with  royal  pomp,  and  Schiller  would  have 
her  don  a  majestic  white  robe  ornamented  with  jewels, 
with  her  royal  crown  on  her  head,  and  covered  with  a 
black  veil,  while  holding  a  crucifix  in  her  hands. 

Concerning  this  last  mentioned  attire,  one  must  remem- 
ber that  Mary  Stuart  was  a  prisoner  from  the  age  in  which 
the  impressions  of  grief  are  the  most  profound — that  she 
was  hurled  from  the  height  of  greatness  into  an  abyss  of 
misery:  that  she  had  endured  nineteen  years  of  torture, 
of  anguish,  of  tears — and  was  reduced  to  such  a  state  of 
weakness  as  to  be  obliged  to  ask  the  good  Lord  Melville 
to  help  her  to  ascend  the  steps  on  her  way  to  the  scaffold, 
her  weakness  being  caused  by  the  swelling  of  her  knees, 
a  result  of  the  unhealthy  condition  of  the  different  prisons 
in  which  she  had  been  kept  a  martyr.  It  is  scarcely 
admissible,  or  possible,  then  that  she  should  still  maintain 
the  sense  of  feminine  vanity  and  still  think  of  making  an 
impression  with  her  beauty  on  those  who  are  to  see  her 
for  the  last  time. 

In  the  second  place,  Mary  would  not  have  been  able 
to  adorn  herself  in  that  way  without  the  consent  of 
Elizabeth.  Can  one  think  it  at  all  probable  that  a  woman 
with  the  temperament  of  that  queen  would  allow  her  rival 
to  make  a  display  of  those  qualities  which  had,  above  all, 
been  the  cause  of  hatred  and  persecution  of  her?  Even 
admitting  such  an  hypothesis,  it  is  not  to  be  presumed 
that  Mary  would  have  requested  so  much. 

These  are  the  convictions  I  formed  myself,  from  the 
first  days  I  began  to  study  the  very  difficult  character 
of  Mary  Stuart. 

In  fact,  from  my  first  appearance,  at  the  age  of  eight- 
een, in  the  role  of  the  unhappy  queen,  I  have  adopted 
the  costumes  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  most  logically 
historic.  Owing  to  a  fortunate  circumstance  I  found 
myself  in  London  in  1857,  at  the  time  when,  under  the 
patronage  of  H.  R.  H.  Prince  Albert,  the  husband  of 
Queen  Victoria,  the  Archaeological  Institute,  of  London, 
was  holding  a  large  exhibition  of  all  souvenirs  and  relics 
of  the  unfortunate  Mary  that  could  be  gathered.  I  had 
the  good  luck  to  be  able  to  visit  that  exhibition.     There 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  MARY  STUART 


MARY  STUART  133 

were  there  several  objects  which  had  belonged  to  Mary- 
Stuart  up  to  the  time  of  her  last  day  on  earth,  which  had 
been  preserved  by  some  old  Scottish  Catholic  families 
devoted  to  the  memory  of  the  unhappy  Mary.  Among 
the  various  articles,  one  could  see  a  white  and  blue 
enamelled  rosary — and  for  the  sake  of  the  scenic  effect  I 
had  one  similar  made  entirely  of  gold;  and  also  an 
imitation  of  the  veil  she  wore  ascending  the  scafifold, 
which  was  woven  of  gold  and  white  silk  ornamented  at  the 
edge  by  narrow  white  lace,  with  the  royal  arms  in  each 
of  the  four  comers. 

Among  the  numberless  pictures  which  represent  her 
in  various  attitudes,  and  whose  authenticity  is  incon- 
testable, as  they  were  executed  a  few  days  after  her  death, 
there  is  one  which  impressed  me  and  which  even  now  I 
see  with  my  mind's  eye.  It  represents  her  execution  at 
Fotheringay,  and  is  attributed  to  the  painter  My  tens. 

She  is  standing  and  wears  a  black  velvet  dress,  sur- 
mounted by  a  sort  of  bodice  without  sleeves,  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  time. 

A  white  scarf  is  around  her  neck.  She  wears  on  her 
head  a  white  lace  hood  of  the  shape  which  has  taken  her 
name,  and  she  is  covered  to  her  feet  by  the  white  veil,  of 
which  I  have  already  spoken.  A  little  ivory  crucifix 
hangs  from  her  neck  and  two  small  chains  unite  her 
bodice  under  her  bosom.  In  a  word,  that  was  the  costume 
I  had  selected,  with  the  exception  that  I  had  substituted 
a  black  veil  for  the  white  one  over  the  hood,  that  seeming 
to  me  more  appropriate  for  the  scenic  effect. 

In  that  remarkable  picture,  she  holds  a  crucifix  in  her 
right  hand,  at  the  lower  end  of  which  is  a  skull.  Mary 
Stuart,  while  stretching  out  her  arm,  holds  the  sacred 
image,  leaning  on  the  table,  upon  which  the  artist  has 
represented  the  final  scene  of  her  martyrdom.  In  this 
one,  we  see  Mary  kneeling  on  the  scaffold.  They  had 
removed  the  bodice  of  her  dress,  and  it  is,  perhaps,  the 
damask  vest  of  various  colours  that  she  were  beneath, 
which  may  have  given  rise  to  the  fantastic  imagina- 
tions I  have  mentioned.  From  the  neck,  which  had 
already  received  the  first  blow  of  the  axe,  runs  a  rivulet 
of    blood. 


134         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

The  executioner  is  in  the  act  of  inflicting  the  second 
blow.  Many  Lords  are  present  at  the  execution  and  also 
other  characters.  At  the  rear  you  can  discern  the  faith- 
ful Maries,  dressed  in  mourning. 

Three  Latin  inscriptions  complete  the  picture.  The 
first  on  the  right  upper  comer  says: 

"Reginam  serenissimant  return  filiam  nxoreyn  et  matrem 
astantibus  comniissariis  et  imnistris  R.  Eliz.  carnifcx  secure 
percutit  atque  uno  et  altero  ietti  truculenter  saiiciatae  tertio 
caput  ascindit.  '  ' 

(The  executioner  with  one  or  two  blows  of  the  axe  wounds 
the  most  serene  Queen,  the  daughter,  the  wife  and  mother  of 
Kings,  in  the  presence  of  Commissaries  and  Ministers  of  the 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  with  a  third  blow  he  cruelly  severs  the 
head  from  the  body.) 

The  second  inscription  under  the  effigy  which  repre- 
sents the  execution  reads  : 

"Maria  Scotiae  Regina  Angliae  et  Hiberniae  vere  princeps 
et  haeres  legitima  Jacobi  Magnae  Britanniae  Regis  mater,  quam 
suorum  haeresi  vexatam,  rebellione  oppressam,  refiigii  causa 
verbo  Eliz.  Reginae  et  cognatae  inixatn  in  Angliam  an.  1568 
descendenteyn  19  annas  captivafn  perfidia  detinuit:  tnilleque 
calumniis  Senatus  Angliae  sententia  haeresi  instigante  neci 
traditur  ac  12.  Calend.  Mart.  1587  a  servit  carnifice  obtruncatur 
an.  aetat.  regnis  45." 

(Mary  Queen  of  Scotia,  a  true  Princess  and  legitimate  heir  of 
England  and  Ireland,  Mother  of  James,  King  of  Great  Britain, 
who,  vexed  by  the  heresy,  oppressed  by  the  revolt  of  her  sub- 
jects, trusting  to  the  word  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  her  own  cousin, 
finds  refuge  in  England  in  the  year  1568,  where  she  was  kept 
prisoner  for  nineteen  years  by  the  perfidious  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  with  many  calumnies  sentenced  by  the  English  Senate, 
provoked  by  Heresy,  she  is  put  to  death  the  i8th  of  February 
1587  by  the  hand  of  a  coward  executioner,  at  the  age  of  45 
years  of  her  life  and  kingdom.) 

The  third  inscription  at  the  feet  of  Mary,  reads  : 

"Sic  funestum  ascendit  tabidatum  Regina  quondam  Galliarunt 
et  Scotiae  florentissiniae,  invicto  sed  pio  animo  tirannidem 
exprobat  et  perfidiam.  Fidem.  catholicam  profitetur  Romanae 
Ecclesiae  semper  fuisse  et  esse  fi,liam  plane  palamq.  testatur." 

(Thus  ascended  upon  the  funeral  scaffold  the  one  who  was 
the  Queen  of  France  and  of  florid  Scotland  ;  and  with  an  un- 
conquered  but  pious  mind,  she  reproached  the  tyranny  of  the 
perfidious  queen,  confessed  her  catholic  faith  and  protested 
openly  that  she  had  always  been  a  devout  daughter  of  the 
Roman  Church.) 


MARY  STUART  135 

Returning  to  the  execution  of  my  role,  I  must  especially 
remark,  that  my  change  from  the  third  to  the  fifth  act 
should  be  very  noticeable  to  the  spectators.  Nothing 
royal  appears  in  my  bearing  but  dignity.  Every  trace  of 
what  had  tormented  the  queen  and  tortured  the  existence 
of  the  victim  has  disappeared  from  my  person  ;  I  make  a 
manifestation  of  all  gentle  sentiments  and  communicate 
all  my  wishes  with  the  sweetness  of  a  martyr  resigned  to 
her  martyrdom.  Therefore,  when  I  present  myself  to 
my  servants  at  the  threshold  of  my  room,  I  should  in- 
spire nothing  but  admiration  and  reverence,  as  if  I  were 
a  holy  vision. 

At  the  sight  of  my  weeping  servants,  I  kindly  reprove 
their  importunate  grief,  telling  them  they  should  rejoice 
instead  of  grieve  that  I  have  reached  the  end  of  outrages 
and  sufferings. 

A  slight  smile  crosses  my  lips  when  saying  that  I  wish 
to  meet  death  as  I  would  a  sweet  friend,  as  a  healing  balm 
for  all  my  pains.  Noticing  among  those  present  my 
faithful  Lord  MelviUe,  I  regard  his  return  to  me  as  a 
heavenly  grace,  knowing  at  least  one  faithful  tongue 
would  tell  the  world  how  I  had  ended  my  life. 

I  was  in  the  disposition  to  allow  nothing  but  sweetness 
and  affection  to  transpire,  but  feeling  my  courage  weaken- 
ing, and  wishing  to  put  a  stop  to  that  heartrending  scene, 
with  a  resolute  mien  I  say  : 

"Oome  all  and  now  receive  my  last  farewell." 

Act  V,  Scene  vii. 

They  all  rushed  to  my  feet. 

Beholding  those  grieving  faces  and  those  extended  arms, 
I  cannot  restrain  my  emotion  and  I  exclaim: 

" I  have  been  much  hated 

And  yet  much  beloved " 

At  last  I  tear  myself  away  from  that  touching  group 
of  people  and  with  a  sad  and  prolonged  "Farewell,"  I 
separate  myself  from  those  faithful  friends. 

From  that  moment  I  no  longer  belong  to  earth — ^all 
my  sentiments,  all  the  passions  of  the  world  have  no  longer 


136         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

any  power  over  my  mind.     I  only  deplore  that  I  have  been 
denied  the  comfort  of  a  minister  of  my  own  religion  : 

"I  see  eternity's  abyss  before  me; 
And  have  not  yet  appeased  the  Holy  One. 
A  priest  of  my  rehgion  is  denied  me. 
And  I  disdain  to  take  the  sacrament, 
The  holy,  heav'nly  nourishment,  from  priest 
Of  a  false  faith " 

In  a  transport  of  ineffable  joy,  I  discover  in  a  comer  of 
the  hall  Lord  Melville,  as  if  sent  to  me  by  Heaven,  in 
order  to  absolve  me  of  all  my  sins  and  give  me  his  blessing. 
Looking  around  attentively  to  see  if  anyone  would  be 
liable  to  come  and  surprise  me,  I  take  the  crucifix  that  I 
had  placed  in  my  belt,  and  with  an  expression  of  greatest 
compunction,  I  kneel  down  before  Melville,  beginning 
my  confession  in  a  feeble  voice.  With  an  intonation,  in 
which  all  the  truth  was  revealed,  I  accuse  myself  of  hav- 
ing borne  strong  hatred,  of  having  conceived  thoughts  of 
revenge,  and  of  not  being  able  to  forgive  the  one  who  had 
so  bitterly  wronged  me.  Where  I  lack  courage  and 
energy  is  when  Melville,  after  having  inquired  of  me  if 
other  faults  are  lying  on  my  heart,  I  answer: 

"I  humbly  acknowledge  to  have  err'd, 
Most  gr'evously,  I  tremble  to  approach 
Sullied  with  sin,  the  God  of  purity." 

This  part  of  the  confession,  which  the  author  puts  in 
the  mouth  of  the  unhappy  queen,  could  not  be  expressed 
by  me  in  a  tone  of  conviction,  as  it  is  my  full  belief  that 
the  accusations  hurled  against  Mary  Stuart  were  false, 
and  invented  solely  by  her  numerous  and  powerful 
enemies. 

Mary  protested  her  innocence  on  the  scaffold,  and  she 
could  not  lie  on  the  point  of  appearing  before  the  Supreme 
Judge.  The  fact  that  her  enemies  never  granted  her  the 
opportunity  of  justifying  herself  publicly,  and  of  pointing 
out  to  the  Parliament  that  had  to  judge  her,  the  truth 
of  her  assertions  is,  according  to  my  modest  opinion,  an 
evident  proof  that  the  different  authors  who  have  scorned 
to  consider  her  guilty  are  right. 

During  the  confession,  after  having  heard  from  Mary 
that  she  has  no  other  sin  to  confess,  Melville  assumes  a 


MARY  STUART  137 

severe  aspect,  accuses  her  of  lying,  of  trying  to  conceal 
her  most  incriminating  fault,  that  for  which  she  has  been 
condemned — that  of  having  taken  part  in  the  conspiracy 
of  Paris  and  Babington  to  kill  Elizabeth.  With  a  serene 
expression  and  the  calmness  born  of  a  tranquil  conscience, 
after  a  short  pause,  I  say: 

"I  am  prepar'd  to  meet  eternity; 
Within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  hour, 
I  shall  appear  before  the  judge's  throne; 
But,  I  repeat  it,  my  confession's  ended." 

But  as  Lord  Melville  insists  that  Mary  should  not  delude 
him  with  a  subtle  artifice,  I  again  protest  my  innocence, 
without  denying,  however,  that  I  had  endeavoured  to 
enlist  the  sympathy  of  all  the  princes  that  they  might 
free  me  from  the  unmerited  captivity  to  which  my 
accusers  had  condemned  me  : 

"Thou  mount'st,  then,  satisfied, 
Of  thy  innocence,  the  fatal  scaffold?" 

Melville  says,  and  I  answer: 

"God  suffers  me  in  mercy  to  atone 
By  undeserved  death,  my  youth's  transgressions.  " 

making  allusion  to  the  death  of  Damley. 

Through  the  tears  which  fill  my  eyes,  I  know  how  to 
express  so  well  the  light  of  truthfulness,  and  have  so  much 
faith  in  heavenly  justice  as  to  cause  the  emotion  of  Mel- 
ville to  appear  sublime.  He  absolves  me  with  Christian 
words,  and  ends  his  invocation  to  God  by  placing  his 
hand  upon  my  head  as  a  blessing.  I  am  then  kneeling 
down  holding  in  my  hand  the  crucifix,  with  my  head 
raised  and  a  smile  of  fervent  faith  upon  my  lips.  I  speak 
as  if  the  beatitudes  of  heaven  were  already  open  before 
me. 

After  remaining  for  a  few  moments  in  that  religious 
ecstasy,  Hannah  steps  forward  and,  approaching  Lord 
Melville,  whispers  something  in  his  ear.  After  emitting 
a  deep  sigh,  he  raises  me  up,  while  my  eyes  never  waver 
from  that  luminous  point  which  my  exalted  imagination 
seems  to  show  me  : 

"A  painful  conflict  is  in  store  for  thee." 


138         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 
Lord  Melville  says  sadly  to  me: 

"Feel'st  thou  within  thee  strength  enough  to  smother 
Each  impulse  of  malignity  and  hate?  " 

In  a  soft  and  hannonious  voice  I  answer  : 

"I  fear  no  relapse,  I  have  to  God 
Devoted  both  my  hatred,  and  my  love." 

On  hearing  the  announcement  of  the  coming  of  Bur- 
leigh, and  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  at  one  time  was 
supposed  to  be  my  suitor,  I  act  in  such  a  way  as  not  to 
alter  the  expression  of  my  face,  and  only  come  back  to 
my  earthly  misery  when  Cecil  says  to  me  : 

"I  came,  my  Lady  Stuart,  to  receive 
Your  last  commands  and  wishes." 

Act  v,  Scene  viii. 

At  this  point,  being  absorbed  in  the  thought  of  God, 
with  an  expression  of  complete  calmness  I  thank  Lord 
Cecil,  addressing  to  him  some  request  for  the  benefit  of 
my  servants,  and  prayers  for  the  rest  of  my  soul,  and  at 
the  end  I  make  him  the  bearer  of  my  last  "farewell"  to 
Queen  Elizabeth.     But  after  Lord  Burleigh  has  queried  : 

"Say,  do  you  still  adhere  to  your  resolve 
And  still  refuse  assistance  from  the  Dean?  " 

I  answer  with  a  firm  voice  : 

"My  Lord,  I've  made  my  peace  with  God." 

I  give  the  words  "with  God"  a  very  marked  accent, 
meant  to  express  that  the  Catholic  faith  had  been  my 
constant  guide  through  life. 

After  asking  Paulet  forgiveness  for  having  been  the 
involuntary  cause  of  the  death  of  his  nephew,  Mortimer, 
I  am  aroused  by  a  painful  cry  of  my  maids.  I  turn 
suddenly  around.  The  large  door  at  the  rear  of  the  stage 
opens.  At  the  sight  of  the  executioner,  the  sheriff,  and 
the  guards  holding  lighted  torches  in  their  hands,  I  show 
human  frailty  can  reappear  in  me  for  an  instant — I 
stagger — ^my  eyes  close.  Lord  Melville  anxiously  holds 
me  up,  taking  the  cross,  which  has  slipped  through  my 


MARY  STUART  139 

hands.     Then   I   recover  my   consciousness   and   softly 
say: 

" Yes — my  hour  is  come — 

The  Sheriff  comes  to  lead  me  to  my  faith, 
And  part  we  must, — farewell — 
You,  worthy  Sir,  and  my  dear  faithful  Hannah, 
Shall  attend  my  last  moments." 

Leaning  on  them,  with  an  unsteady  step,  I  walk  to  the 
scaffold. 

Lord  Burleigh  wished  to  deprive  Mary  of  that  last 
comfort,  to  prevent  her  from  being  accompanied  by  her 
faithful  ones,  saying  that  he  had  no  orders  to  authorise 
that.  To  this  Mary  answered,  that  her  royal  sister  would 
never  permit  that  her  body  should  be  offended  by  the 
contact  of  the  rough  hands  of  the  executioner.  She  also 
assures  him  that  Hannah  will  not  disturb  the  execution 
with  her  crying. 

At  the  request  directed  by  Paulet  to  Burleigh  that 
he  grant  Mary's  wish,  he  consents.  From  that  moment 
my  face  is  transformed  with  the  most  fervent  religious 
expression  and,  turning  my  eyes  to  Heaven  thus,  I  speak  : 

" .     .     I  now 

Have  nothing  in  this  world  to  wish  for  more. 
My  God!  My  Comforter!  My  blest  Redeemer! 
As  once  Thy  arms  were  stretch 'd  upon  the  cross 
Let  them  be  now  extended  to  receive  me!  " 

Having  said  this,  I  slowly  join  my  hands  upon  my 
breast.  Lord  Melville  at  my  side,  holding  the  crucifix 
in  his  hand,  directs  my  trembling  steps.  Suddenly,  on 
perceiving  Leicester,  I  am  overcome  by  a  great  wave  of 
emotion.  All  my  past  appears  before  me.  ...  I 
stagger  and  not  having  strength  to  prevent  it,  fall  in  the 
arms  of  the  Earl,  who  has  hurriedly  approached  me  in 
order  to  hold  me.  Recovering  my  strength,  little  by 
little,  in  a  weak  voice  I  say  : 

"You  keep  your  word,  my  Lord  Leicester:  for 
You  promised  me  your  arm  to  lead  me  forth 
From  prison,  and  you  lend  it  to  me  now." 

Noticing  how  confused  Lord  Leicester  is  at  my  words, 


I40         MEMOIRS  UF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

which  arc  pronounced  with  a  sweet  voice,  filled  with  both 
resignation  and  a  slight  tone  of  reproach,  I  continue  : 

"Farewell,  my  lord,  and  if  you  can,  be  happy! 
To  woo  two  Queens  has  been  your  daring  aim  ; 
You  have  disdained  a  tender,  loving  heart, 
To  win  a  proud  one! " 

I  had  prearranged  that  the  Earl  should  show  himself 
very  much  affected  by  those  words,  that  he  should  turn 
to  me  with  a  beseeching  gesture,  as  if  to  exculpate  him- 
self, in  order  to  give  a  stronger  meaning  to  the  following 
words,  which  I  then  pronounce  with  an  almost  prophetic 
expression  : 

"Kneel  at  the  feet  of  Queen  Elizabeth! 
May  your  reward  not  prove  your  punishment!  " 

At  this  point  one  could  hear  the  slow  strokes  of  the 
bell,  followed  by  the  beating  of  drums.  Being  thus 
recalled  to  earthly  power.  Lord  Melville,  filled  with 
Christian  sentiment  and  with  an  appearance  of  reproach, 
pushes  me  slowly  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  in  order  to  give 
me  the  opportunity  of  contemplating  the  cross  before 
which  I  kneel,  repenting  my  past  emotion. 

I  fervently  bring  to  my  lips  the  crucifix  of  my  rosary, 
while  Lord  Melville  presents  the  cross  to  me,  as  if  to 
signify:  Think  that  you  must  appear  in  the  presence  of 
the  One  who  will  shortly  judge  you,  purified  as  you  are  by 
the  victory  you  have  gained  over  earthly  passions  ! 

Being  profoundly  penetrated  and  shaken  by  that 
thought  I  stand  up,  sustained  by  my  confessor,  and  with 
my  look  always  fixed  upon  the  sign  of  Redemption,  still 
in  front  of  me,  I  turn  slowly  around,  and  move  toward 
the  rear  of  the  stage.  Reaching  the  steps  of  the  scaffold, 
with  Lord  Melville  still  by  my  side  pointing  the  cross  to 
me,  I  make  my  maids  and  servants,  who  were  weeping 
kneeling  down,  imderstand  with  a  gesture  that  I  will  pray 
for  them  in  Heaven,  and  stretch  out  my  hand  to  bless 
them. 

Then,  with  a  supreme  motion  having  kissed  the  cross, 
I  bid  them  an  eternal  "Farewell"  and  ascend  the  stair 
followed  by  the  executioner  and  some  other  people. 


e.  Hirtesy  of  Charles  L.  Ritiimr.n,  N^a   York 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  QUEEN  ELIZABETH 


CHAPTER  II 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND — A  DRAMA  BY 
P.  GIACOMETTI 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  task  of  reproducing  the 
historical  character  'of  EHzabeth,  Queen  of  England,  in 
a  manner  true  to  life,  is  a  most  difficult  undertaking.  To 
be  able  to  combine  the  haughtiness,  the  royal  dignity, 
the  transcendent  genius,  the  dissimulation,  the  hypocrisy, 
and  the  most  striking  absolutism,  with  the  frivolity,  the 
futility  of  a  woman,  vulgar  at  times,  at  others  a  queen, 
to  portray  all  these  different  traits  in  one  nature  is  a  most 
arduous  task,  particularly  for  an  actress  from  whom  a 
critic  expects,  with  justice,  a  personation  in  accordance 
with  her  fame. 

When  in  the  year  1854,  I  first  thought  of  adding  to 
my  repertoire  the  title  role  of  the  drama  "  Elizabeth 
Queen  of  England,"  by  the  illustrious  playwright  Paolo 
Giacometti,  I  had  necessarily  to  dedicate  myself  body 
and  soul  to  the  research  of  all  that  might  enlighten 
me  as  to  the  character,  and  nature  of  this  famous 
queen. 

The  result  of  all  this  study  brought  me  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  though  the  virtues  of  Elizabeth  as  a 
sovereign,  as  a  political  character,  were  very  great  and 
rendered  her  famous  through  the  whole  world,  and  par- 
ticularly beloved  in  England,  still  her  well-known  cruel- 
ties, her  hypocrisy  and  her  unrestrained  indulgences  of 
hatred,  all  of  which  has  been  transmitted  to  us  by  history, 
could  not  help  but  render  her  the  object  of  greater  dislike 
than  admiration  for  the  gentler  people  of  our  times. 
Therefore,  the  reader  will  easily  understand  with  what 
effort  I  overcame  my  intimate  sentiments  in  order  to 
portray  that  unique  type  of  woman,  and  of  sovereign. 

Whenever  I  undertook  the  study  of  a  new  part,  a 
necessary  and  "absolute"  condition  for  me  to  consider 

141 


142         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

was  that  not  only  a  noteworthy  difficulty  and  precon- 
ceived interpretation  was  before  me,  but  that  this  should 
not  turn  out  to  be  either  revolting  or  repugnant  to  my 
nature  and  my  individuality. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  renouncing  the  presentation  of 
the  role  of  Elizabeth.  An  aversion  to  the  part  had 
gradually  been  growing  within  me,  as  I  learned  of  the  cruel 
deeds  of  this  queen,  especially  of  her  animosity  toward 
the  unhappy  Mary  Stuart.  However,  our  leading  man, 
who  at  that  time  was  also  the  Director  of  the  Royal 
Dramatic  Company  in  the  service  of  the  king,  caused 
me  to  reflect  on  all  the  trouble  my  refusal  to  accept  the 
role  would  bring  upon  me.  During  my  investigation  of 
this  character  study,  the  preparations  for  the  performance 
had  been  going  on.  Everything  was  ready  ;  and  a  formal 
announcement  had  been  made  public.  I  had  no  alter- 
native but  to  resign  my  position,  or  to  interpret  the  part. 
'Still,  even  though  the  character  of  Elizabeth  appeared 
odious  to  me,  and  such  as  to  deter  me  from  its  enthusiastic 
interpretation,  yet  owing  to  the  care  I  had  taken,  regard- 
less of  my  own  sentiments,  to  familiarise  myself  with  it, 
I  think  I  am  not  in  error  when  I  say  that  the  public  found 
this  role  among  the  most  elaborate  and  complete  studies 
of  my  repertoire. 

At  her  first  appearance  on  the  scene,  the  carriage,  the 
gesture,  the  tone  of  voice  of  Elizabeth,  should  be  those 
of  a  person  familiar  with  the  ordering  of  important  state 
affairs,  whose  opinion  is  not  to  be  disputed,  whose  culture 
and  knowledge  of  foreign  languages  give  her  more  than 
common  gratification,  and  who  was  equal  one  day  to 
rebuking  severely  in  the  Latin  language  a  Polish  am- 
bassador, who,  having  addressed  her  in  that  tongue,  had 
revealed  some  indiscreet  pretensions,  thinking  that  the 
Queen  was  not  well  versed  in  the  knowledge  of  Latin. 
She  complained  once  to  her  favourites  of  having  been 
forced  to  "destroy  her  old  Latin." 

I  took  particular  care  to  make  it  plain  to  the  spectators 
that,  in  spite  of  the  affection  which  Elizabeth  at  that 
time  felt  for  the  Earl  of  Essex,  her  haughty  nature  would, 
with  her  sarcasm  and  disdain,  place  all  on  the  same  level, 
whenever  she  supposed  that  any  one  of  her  favourites 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       143 

dared  to  raise  his  ambitious  aspiration  to  the  possession 
of  her  hand. 

In  the  first  act,  there  is  the  scene  in  which  the  author, 
Giacometti — ^with  one  of  those  inspirations  which  are 
famihar  to  him  and  which  are  very  striking — creates  a 
most  difficult  contrast  in  its  action,  by  displaying  a 
characteristic  trait  of  this  great  queen,  and  thus  giving 
the  opportunity  to  the  actress  who  plays  the  part  to  show 
her  ability. 

Elizabeth  had  to  dictate  two  letters  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, employing  her  Secretary,  Davison,  and  the  young 
philosopher.  Bacon.  The  first  letter  is  dictated  in  the 
irritated  tone  of  the  Sovereign,  to  Lord  Leicester,  in  reply 
to  a  message  he  has  sent  her  in  which  he  notified  her  of 
the  ovations  of  triumph  he  had  received  in  Holland,  and 
pushing  his  audacity  to  the  extent  of  asking  her  for  the 
crown  of  Belgium  which  the  Counts  of  Egmont,  of  Horn 
and  of  Flessing  have  offered  to  him,  in  the  name  of  the 
United  Provinces.  All  this  is  expressed  in  a  most  ego- 
tistic manner,  which  vexes  the  queen. 

The  second  letter  contains  an  order  that  she  wishes 
to  give  to  Judge  Pophan. 

Though  Bacon  knows  how  adverse  Elizabeth  is  to  the 
latest  work  of  Shakespeare,  "Henry  VIII,"  because 
he  has  dared  to  put  on  the  stage  her  father  and  mother 
and  herself,  yet  with  the  hope  of  obtaining  her  consent  to 
its  production.  Bacon  begs  her  on  his  knees  to  listen  to 
some  of  the  passages  of  the  play.  She  reluctantly  grants 
his  request. 

Then  with  all  the  emphasis  with  which  an  author  may 
read  his  own  work  in  order  to  make  it  well  appreciated, 
(and  some  historians  go  even  so  far  as  to  maintain  that 
this  drama  is  a  creation  of  Bacon),  he  declaims  some 
parts  of  the  play  in  which  is  prophesied  the  greatness,  the 
prosperity,  and  the  long  life  of  Elizabeth,  and  which  exalts 
her  exemplary  magnanimity  and  her  fame  as  a  maiden- 
queen!  .  .  .  The  stratagem  of  Bacon  proves  very 
successful.  Hearing  herself  so  highly  flattered,  Elizabeth 
writes  with  her  own  hand  at  the  foot  of  the  manuscript, 
that  it  is  her  wish  that  the  drama  of  "Henry  VIII"  be 
presented  within  a  fortnight  at  Windsor,  in  her  Court 


144         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

theatre.  But  learning  from  Bacon  that  the  play  cannot 
be  produced  so  soon,  as  Shakespeare  is  in  prison  for  debts, 
the  queen  resolves  to  dictate  at  once  a  letter  to  Bacon 
for  Judge  Pophan,  in  which  she  informs  him  that  she 
consents  that  the  drama  "  Henry  VIII  "  shall  be  produced. 
And  as  Pophan  has  unconsciously  forbidden  the  pro- 
duction of  a  drama  in  which  the  queen  is  highly  exalted 
she  finds  a  way  to  punish  him  by  making  him  pay 
all  Shakespeare's  debts,  "according  to  the  note  that 
Bacon  will  present  to  him."  She  ended  her  letter 
by  saying:  That  she  hopes  that  in  future  he  will 
put  on  his  glasses  in  order  to  better  distinguish  white 
from  black. 

I  dictate  these  two  letters  at  the  same  time,  giving 
to  the  one  destined  for  the  Earl  of  Leicester  the  greatest 
impression  of  severity,  declaring  that  "crowns  were  not 
made  for  his  head,  and  least  of  all  the  one  of  Belgium, 
which  she  herself  had  refused."  I  added  that  he  is  to 
resign  immediately  from  the  command  of  the  troops  under 
the  leadership  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  if  he  does  not  wish 
me  to  have  him  placed  under  arrest  by  a  regiment  of 
cavalry.  This  dictation,  given  with  movements  of  ire, 
alternates  with  the  other  to  Pophan,  given  in  a  familiar 
but  authoritative  and  bantering  tone,  such  as  the  subject 
of  the  letter  required. 

Such  a  contrast  produced  completely  the  effects  that 
the  author  desired. 

During  the  second  act  there  are  some  very  remarkable 
scenes,  in  which  the  author  has  found  the  way  to  delineate 
and  put  together  the  various  episodes  of  the  life  of  Eliza- 
beth, by  connecting  them  in  a  masterly  manner,  taking 
advantage  of  all  the  license  of  time  and  place  that  would 
be  tolerated  on  the  stage,  and  this  without  either  spoiling 
or  altering  the  regular  procedure  of  the  action,  or  making 
the  parts  appear  unnatural  or  uninteresting  in  their 
connection. 

I  preferred  the  second  act  to  the  others,  because  it 
offered  me  the  opportunity  of  playing  a  comedy  part, 
which  I  so  much  liked.  Even  later  on,  during  my  pro- 
fessional career,  it  was  a  source  of  great  pleasure  to  me, 
when  owing  to  some  unexpected  circumstance  I  was  asked 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND        145 

to  play  a  comic  role  in  either  Goldoni's  "Locandiera," 
or  "  I  Gelosi  Fortimati." 

In  the  above-mentioned  second  act  of  Elizabeth,  there 
is  a  coquettish  scene,  in  which  the  cunning,  the  flattering 
queen,  pretends  to  accept  at  times  the  loving  overtures 
of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  to  pity  at  the  same  time  the  ill- 
repressed  emotions  of  jealousy  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester 
who  believes  that  Essex  is  his  fortunate  rival;  while  at 
other  moments  the  queen  suddenly  assumes  the  tone  of 
the  offended  Sovereign,  and  dismisses  the  Earl  of  Essex 
from  her  presence,  saying  "that  in  her  queenly  heart 
never  did  enter  a  feeble  affection,"  and,  controlling  her 
feelings,  she  allows  herself  to  add  "that  one  should  make 
exception  to  the  Duke  of  Anjou  and  the  Admiral  Sey- 
mour!" Then  when  the  Earl  of  Essex  perceives,  by  the 
anger  of  the  queen,  that  he  has  gone  a  little  too  far,  he 
throws  himself  at  her  feet,  asking  forgiveness.  In  playing 
that  part,  I  assumed  the  looks  of  the  offended  queen,  while 
clearly  showing  to  the  spectators  that  I  enjoyed  that 
unrestrained  outburst  of  jealousy.  And,  frowning  I 
would  say:  "You  wicked  man,  you  dare  to  love  your 
Queen!  .  .  ."I  would  act  so  that  Essex  should  try 
to  take  hold  of  my  hand  to  impress  a  kiss  upon  it,  while, 
with  a  disdainful  commanding  gesture,  I  would  draw  it 
back.  Then,  little  by  little,  without  being  noticed  by 
the  Earl,  I  admire  at  a  glance,  with  a  loving  satisfaction, 
that  noble  and  handsome  knight  in  so  submissive  a  pos- 
ture, and  conquering  those  sentiments  of  love  and  pride 
which  were  antagonistic  to  my  nature,  I  exclaim,  in  a 
jesting  manner:  "What  are  you  doing  there?  Are  you 
reciting  your  prayers  ?  Rise      .     .     rise  up!" 

In  pronouncing  these  last  two  words,  my  hand,  motion- 
ing him  to  rise,  would  with  dignity  slightly  touch  the  hair 
of  the  Earl,  so  that  the  latter,  feeling  encouraged  by 
that  gesture,  would  rise,  grasp  my  hand,  and  cover  it  with 
kisses,  and  holding  it  tightly  with  both  his  hands,  exclaim, 
with  emotion:  "Ah!  the  Queen  of  England  has  taken  my 
hand!"  I,  disengaging  myself,  would  move  back,  and 
with  affected  modesty  would  end  the  dialogue,  saying: 
"I  did  not  notice  it!"  Restraining  then  my  emotion 
and  my  love,  and  hearing  the  Earl  sweetly  utter  the 


I4Ó         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

words:  "That  it  was  not  possible  to  love  another  woman 
after  having  seen  Elizabeth!"  greatly  moved,  with  a  long 
look — in  which  was  expressed  all  the  love  that  was  domin- 
ating me  at  that  moment — after  a  short  hesitation,  taking 
a  gem  from  my  finger,  I  offer  it  to  the  Earl,  and  solemnly 
promise  to  him:  "That  if  owing  to  any  wrong  he  may 
commit,  he  should  lose  the  grace  of  his  queen,  by  present- 
ing me  or  having  that  ring  presented  to  me,  he  shall  be 
pardoned,  and  I  pledge  my  word  as  queen!" 

In  a  monologue  which  follows  this  scene,  the  author 
endeavours  to  bring  out  all  the  characteristic  features  of 
the  nature  of  Elizabeth.  While  the  passion  of  love  seems 
to  tame  and  finally  conquer  her,  her  unrestrained  pride 
and  fever  for  absolute  power,  which  constantly  devour 
her,  smother  in  her  heart  all  the  tender  and  gentle  woman- 
ly feelings,  and  make  her  feel  ashamed  of  her  spasmodic 
weakness.  The  idea  of  having  to  yield  to  the  insistent 
wish  of  the  Parliament,  of  the  Puritans,  and  of  Went- 
worth,  that  she  choose  a  husband:  "the  fear  of  having 
to  share  her  kingdom  with  another,  and  not  be  any  longer 
the  arbiter  of  everything  and  of  all,"  strengthens  more 
than  ever  her  resolution  to  remain  free  and  her  own 
mistress. 

While  she  is  in  a  gracious  frame  of  mind,  her  Secretary, 
Davison,  presents  himself,  bearing  a  letter  from  Mary 
Stuart  addressed  to  her,  and  also  the  death  sentence  for 
Mary,  in  order  that  the  Queen  may  place  on  it  the  royal 
seal. 

Elizabeth  can  hardly  repress  an  expression  of  joy, 
and  covers  her  emotion  with  a  mask  of  hypocrisy.  She 
reads  the  letter  of  the  unhappy  prisoner,  with  ill-concealed 
impatience.  At  the  end  of  it,  Mary  Stuart  declares  as 
her  heir  and  successor  to  the  throne  of  Scotland,  (think- 
ing that  her  son  James  is  allied  with  her  murderers)  the 
unconquerable  PhiHp  II,  King  of  Spain.  Elizabeth  is 
then  assailed  by  one  of  her  usual  excesses  of  hatred  and 
says  to  herself,  in  a  sneering  way:  "that  she  herself  will 
assimie  the  execution  of  the  will,  but  that  in  the  mean- 
while she  will  send  her  to  meet  the  angels!"  A  most 
horrible  sentiment  worthy  of  a  perv-erse  woman. 

During  the  scene  of  dissimulation  with  James  VI,  who 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       147 

comes  to  ask  for  the  life  of  his  mother,  threatening  to 
avenge  her  death,  in  case  his  prayer  is  not  granted — 
with  a  set  expression  in  my  face,  and  a  harassed,  pene- 
trating look,  I  show  to  the  audience  the  storm  that  is 
brewing  within  me. 

But  on  the  arrival  of  Davison,  who  comes  to  announce 
in  a  loud  voice  :  "  that  the  executioner  has  shown  to  the 
people  the  head  of  Mary  Stuart,"  my  appearance  under- 
goes a  complete  transformation,  and  a  cry  of  unrepressed 
joy  escapes  me,  which,  however,  owing  to  the  consterna- 
tion of  the  bystanders  at  the  terrible  announcement, 
passes  unobserved.  I  quickly  repress  it,  breaking  forth 
furiously  against  those  who  had  executed  the  sentence. 
With  my  usual  quickness,  I  instantaneously  impress  upon 
my  face  a  very  exaggerated  expression  of  grief,  of  re- 
pressed hysterics,  succeeding  thus  in  deceiving  even 
James  VI,  who  is  not  able  to  discern  "whether  my  grief 
was  real  or  pretended."  Having  remained  alone  with 
my  courtiers,  I  keep  up  before  them  also,  my  hypocrisy, 
weeping  and  declaring  that  I  have  decided  to  spend  the 
rest  of  my  days  in  a  cloister,  in  penance  and  con- 
templation. But  the  unexpected  return  of  the  ad- 
venturer, Francis  Drake,  who  had  been  sent  by  Elizabeth 
through  the  Spanish  regions  in  order  to  discover  the 
movements  of  the  Spaniards,  causes  my  face  and  my  whole 
body  to  undergo  an  instantaneous  and  complete  change. 
The  death  of  Mary  Stuart,  my  hypocritical  pretences, 
the  false  penitence,  all  were  forgotten  in  the  feverish 
anxiety  to  learn  the  result  of  the  mission  intrusted  to 
Drake. 

He  relates  that  the  war  preparations  of  the  enemy 
are  vast  enough  to  conquer  all  Europe;  that  the  fleet, 
divided  in  two  squadrons  cover  the  sea  for  the  space  of 
seven  miles  from  one  extremity  to  the  other;  that  some 
of  the  bravest  foreign  captains  are  allied  to  the  Spaniards, 
who,  feeling  already  certain  of  victory,  are  calling  their 
fleet  the  "invincible  armada."  Hearing  all  this,  I  dart 
flames  from  my  eyes,  and  in  an  outburst  I  cry:  "At  last, 
I  have  succeeded  in  my  purpose!"  Then,  like  a  fiery 
steed  who  prances  at  the  roar  of  cannons,  Elizabeth, 
electrified  by  the  presentiment  of  a  great  victory,  shows 


148         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

that  she  feels  her  blood  boil  in  her  veins,  and  that  her 
imagination  is  exalted. 

When  Don  Mendoza,  the  Ambassador  of  Spain,  in  an 
arrogant  tone  declares  war  against  her  in  the  name  of 
his  King,  Philip  II,  Elizabeth  thanks  him  disdainfully. 
Then,  as  an  experienced  leader  of  armies,  with  a  feverish 
ardour  I  give  the  orders  for  the  war  preparations,  divid- 
ing the  commands,  establishing  the  various  authorities, 
and  enthused  by  my  belligerent  spirit,  I  assure  my  Lords 
"that  a  most  powerful  sword  will  fight  for  England." 
"And  which  one?"  asks  Mendoza.  "The  one  of  Henry 
VIII,"  I  answer,  filled  with  pride.  "Who  will  have  the 
courage  to  wield  it?"  adds,  with  petulance,  Mendoza. 
"I!"  I  reply,  throw^ing  myself  toward  the  trophy  formed 
with  the  arms  of  Henry  VIII.  And  grasping,  with  a 
threatening  movement,  the  formidable  sword  which  was 
to  assure  the  victory  of  England,  with  a  threatening  voice 
I  add:  "And  tell  to  Philip  that  Elizabeth  has  un- 
sheathed it.  When  two  nations  meet  like  two  athletic 
giants  on  the  ocean,  the  world  will  tremble,  and  after 
their  encounter,  one  of  these  two  will  disappear  in  a 
bloody  pool,  like  a  pebble  thrown  by  a  child  in  the  water! 
O  England,  O  Spain,  O  Elizabeth,  O  PhiHp!  Upon 
the  memory  of  the  King,  my  father,  I  swear  it!" 
And  I  remain  with  my  sword  raised,  placing  my  hand 
on  it  in  the  act  of  an  oath.  All  the  bystanders  drawing 
their  swords,  point  them  in  the  direction  of  mine,  repeat- 
ing: "We  swear." 

With  this  tableau  the  curtain  drops. 

The  third  act  does  not  contain  any  scenes  adding  to 
this  remarkable  interpretation  of  Elizabeth's  character, 
with  the  exception  of  two  interesting  situations;  the 
historical  episode  of  Marguerite  Lambrun  and  the  punish- 
ment of  Essex. 

When  Marguerite  is  led  before  me,  in  consequence  of 
her  attempt  upon  my  life,  I  question  her  with  an  angry 
voice,  having  decided  to  punish  her  with  death,  but  on 
hearing  the  resolute  tone  in  which  she  declares,  without 
changing  her  countenance,  that  her  purpose  was  to  kill 
me  in  order  to  avenge  the  death  of  her  unfortunate 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       149 

mistress,  Mary  Stuart,  as  well  as  that  of  her  poor  hus- 
band, who  had  died  of  grief,  not  having  been  able  to 
survive  the  horrible  fate  of  his  queen,  I  become  much 
affected.  I  ask  what  I  should  do  to  her  after  such  a 
confession;  and  hearing  her  bold  answer  that  I  should 
forgive  her,  filled  with  astonishment  I  add:  "And 
what  assurance  have  I  that  you  will  not  again  attempt 
my  life?"  To  which  Marguerite  answers:  "That  a  par- 
don granted  with  so  many  restrictions  is  no  longer  a  par- 
don, and  that  I  may  have  her  head!  "  Such  presumption, 
such  temerity,  such  courage  of  expression,  the  queen 
had  never  before  seen  in  anyone  during  all  her  reign; 
they  subjugated  her — and  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
yielding  to  an  impulse  of  generosity,  hastily,  for  fear  of 
repenting,  she  says  to  Marguerite:  "Go  with  God,  but 
be  quick!     ..." 

As  regards  the  colouring  that  I  thought  best  to  give 
to  this  scene,  it  seemed  to  me  well  to  interpret  the  inten- 
tion of  the  author,  by  expressing  in  a  marked  way,  with 
face  and  voice — the  contrasts  between  generosity,  sever- 
ity, and  greatness,  the  characteristic  instincts  of  this 
great  queen. 

The  other  important  situation  begins  with  the  reception 
granted  by  Elizabeth  to  the  conquerors  of  Cadiz.  The  ex- 
pression of  my  face  had  to  reveal  my  purpose  of  avenging 
myself  on  the  Earl  of  Essex  for  the  love  that  he  bore  the 
Lady  Sarah,  for  having  overstepped  the  power  intrusted 
to  him,  and  for  not  having  conformed  to  my  wishes. 

I  begin  the  speech  addressed  to  the  victors,  praising 
and  thanking  them  both  in  my  name  and  in  the  name 
of  all  England,  for  the  most  important  victory  they  had 
gained  over  the  formidable  Spanish  fleet.  I  name  Drake 
high  admiral,  Lord  Howard,  Earl  of  Nottingham.  As 
to  Essex,  who,  like  the  others,  has  respectfully  knelt  at 
my  feet,  expecting  that  he,  also,  would  be  rewarded  for 
his  prowess,  I  commence  by  admiring  the  courage  he  has 
shown  during  the  battle,  and  this  in  an  insinuating, 
tranquil  voice,  as  if  I  am  preparing  him  to  receive  an 
adequate  recompense.  "However,"  I  add,  "taking  into 
consideration  that  you  have  failed  in  your  duties  as  a 
subject,  denying  obedience  to  those  whom  I  had  invested 


ISO         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

with  supreme  power  over  the  armies  of  land  and  sea, 
becoming  also  a  rebel  to  the  orders  of  your  queen  ;  I  will 
wait  to  reward  you  until  I  obtain  from  you  proofs  of 
obedience  and  submission." 

All  this  is  said  with  an  austere  face,  in  a  firm  and 
vibrating  voice,  as  if  I  wished  that  each  one  of  my  words 
should  hurt  his  heart,  and  humiliate  him  before  all.  The 
Earl,  recovering  from  his  amazement,  begins  to  give 
vent  to  his  rancour  for  the  injustice  he  suffers  and  ends 
by  reproving  me  for  having  overwhelmed  with  honours 
and  distinctions  Lord  Howard,  whom,  he  knew,  had  only 
won  the  battle  owing  to  a  raging  storm  which  had  run  the 
Spanish  ships  upon  the  rocks.  I  ask  him  in  vain  to  be 
silent.  Little  by  little  my  anger  grows,  particularly 
when  I  hear  the  Earl  boast  of  being  descended  from  a  line 
of  kings,  and  when  I,  endeavouring  to  prevent  Lord 
Howard  from  accepting  the  challenge  that  the  Earl 
has  thrown  at  him,  and  the  latter,  with  a  sardonic  smile, 
says:  "Can  the  dukes  and  the  earls  no  longer  fight  one 
another  without  the  permission  of  the  Queen?  .  .  ." 
Then  my  ire  overflows,  and  renders  me  so  blind  as  to 
cause  me  to  throw  my  glove  in  his  face!  Lord  Essex, 
losing  all  control  and  exasperated  by  this  insult,  over- 
steps every  consideration  of  regard  and  respect  for  his 
queen  and  breaks  forth  into  fierce  invectives  against  her. 
He  accuses  her  "of  having  fused  her  crown  with  those 
of  dukes  and  earls;  of  having  made  the  Parliament  of 
England  like  the  Divan  of  Mahomet  ;  of  having  reprieved 
all  privileges";  and  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  he  fills 
the  measure  of  his  insults  by  calling  her  "  an  Occidental 
Vestal  who  more  than  once  has  allowed  her  sacred  flame 
to  go  out,  upon  the  tripod  of  Jupiter." 

AH  the  dramatic  business  and  the  accentuation  of  the 
words  I  had  to  utter  during  the  various  climaxes  at  the 
end  of  this  act,  were  so  w^ell  indicated  by  the  author  that 
the  portraying  the  situation  did  not  entail  much  difficulty. 
I  took  good  care  never  to  forget  that  I  was  a  queen,  even 
when  a  prey  to  the  most  violent  excitement,  and  that 
this  queen  was  Elizabeth  of  England  !      .     . 

Several    years    elapse   between   the  third  and  fourth 


Courtesy  of  Brown  Brothers,  New  York 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI  IN  1880 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND      151 

acts,  during  which  the  Eari  of  Essex,  having  obtained 
forgiveness  for  the  fault  he  had  committed,  has  again 
become  a  favourite  of  EHzabeth.  He  is  now  sent  as  a 
general  to  Ireland,  invested  with  full  powers  to  repress 
energetically  the  revolts  and  troubles  which  are  constantly 
arising  there.  Owing  to  the  inability  of  the  new  general 
this  undertaking  had  most  unfortunate  results.  His 
haughtiness  and  imprudence  led  him  to  the  point  of 
raising  the  flag  of  revolt  against  his  own  queen.  He 
was  arrested  and  sentenced  to  die  on  the  scaffold.  It 
is  at  this  point  that  the  action  of  the  fourth  act  begins. 
Elizabeth's  body  is  now  beginning  to  bend  under  the 
weight  of  her  years!  Grief  at  seeing  herself  forced  to 
use  any  severity  against  the  man  who  has  been  so  dear  to 
her,  the  only  one  she  really  has  loved,  contributes  much 
toward  the  abatement  of  her  power  of  mind,  I  had 
studied  how  to  show  the  effects  of  my  progressing  old 
age.     (Elizabeth  was  then  sixty-five  years  old.) 

Seeing  that  Lady  Burleigh  observes  my  agitation,  I 
try  to  conceal  from  her  its  true  cause,  endeavouring  to 
persuade  her  that  whenever  I  have  to  sentence  anyone 
to  death  I  experience  dreadful  and  cruel  pains.  Still, 
in  spite  of  myself,  I  allow  myself  almost  unconsciously 
to  say  that  the  real  reason  of  my  embarrassment  is  the 
fear  that  Lord  Essex  will  delay  sending  me  the  ring  that 
I  had  given  to  him  in  a  moment  of  tenderness,  with  the 
solemn  promise  of  forgiving  him  any  wrongdoings  when- 
ever he  should  have  it  presented  to  me.  Lady  Burleigh 
is  convinced  that  the  Earl  has  not  yet  dared  to  send  the 
ring.  He  knows  how  guilty  he  is  and  fears  to  irritate 
the  Queen  even  more — and  she  offers  her  services  to  be- 
take herself  to  the  Tower,  not  as  an  envoy  of  the  Queen, 
but  as  if  following  her  own  inspiration,  in  order  to  advise 
the  Earl  of  the  clemency  and  the  magnanimity  of  his 
queen.  Then,  without  being  observed  by  Lady  Bur- 
leigh, I  express  joy  at  such  a  proposition  ;  but  fearing  to 
fall  short  of  my  dignity,  with  an  evident  effort,  I  prevent 
her  from  carrying  out  her  plan:  "Stop" — I  would  say  to 
her — "if  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  let  him  go  and  meet 
him."  On  the  arrival  of  Lord  Burleigh,  who  comes  to 
submit  the  sentence  of  death  for  the  royal  signature, 


m2 


]\1EM0IRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


Elizabeth  cannot  repress  entirely  the  painful  emotion 
which  dominates  her  in  spite  of  herself.  She  orders  all 
to  leave  and  in  the  meantime  tells  Lord  Burleigh  to  send 
her  Davison,  the  Lord  of  the  Seal. 

Having  remained  alone  and  being  thus  able  to  give 
vent  to  my  own  feelings,  I  emit  long  sighs  at  first,  while 
unfolding  upon  the  table  the  long  parchment  and  look 
at  it  with  a  sad  and  painful  expression,  as  if  it  seems 
impossible  that  I  should  affix  my  name  to  it,  and  send  to 
death  the  only  man  I  had  ever  loved!  Very  much  per- 
plexed, but  even  more  resolute,  the  spectators  should 
perceive  that  struggle  within  myself.  At  moments,  in 
order  to  acquire  strength  and  not  to  give  in  to  a  womanly 
weakness,  the  necessity  of  this  death  penalty  seeming  to 
me  imperative,  I  exclaim:  "He  must  die — as  the  other 
conspirators  —  Suffolk  —  Pary  —  Babington  —  Lopez 
and  Mary  Stuart  have  died!  .  .  "  With  every  one 
of  these  interjections,  I  make  the  gesture  of  dipping  my 
pen  in  the  ink  and  signing  the  fatal  parchment;  but  I 
soon  lose  the  courage  to  accomplish  such  an  act.  In 
order  to  urge  myself  to  do  it,  I  say  to  myself  :  "  But  if 
I  should  forgive  him,  it  would  be  as  if  I  were  to  confess 
my  weakness!  .  .  I  to  be  weak?  .  .  Never! 
.  .  .  "  and  again  I  resolve  to  sign  the  parchment; 
and  again  my  courage  abandons  me,  and,  with  a  gesture 
of  wrath,  I  throw  the  pen  on  the  floor.  A  flash  of  hope 
would  suddenly  dart  through  me.  "  Perhaps  the  pride 
of  the  Earl  may  fail  him  before  the  thought  of  death 
.  .  .  perhaps  Essex  has  already  given  the  ring  to 
somebody  who  might  bring  it  to  me."  And  encouraged 
by  such  an  illusion,  I  vehemently  ring  the  bell  and  ask 
if  any  message  has  come  for  me  from  the  Tower.  Receiv- 
ing an  answer  in  the  negative,  and  feeling  exhausted,  I 
sit  heavily  down  in  my  armchair,  exclaiming:  "Pride! 
pride!  to  die  with  his  life  in  his  hands.     .     .      " 

The  author  of  the  drama  introduces  at  this  point  the 
historical  episode  of  the  ring,  to  show  its  importance  in 
connection  with  the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  and  how 
much  it  contributed  to  hasten  the  death  of  Elizabeth. 
Lally  Tollendal  says:  "  He  lost  his  head  upon  the  scaffold 
and  the  grief  that  the  Queen  experienced  in  seeing  herself 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       153 

forced  to  such  a  rigorous  act  against  a  man  who  had  been 
so  dear  to  her,  plunged  her  into  a  profound  melan- 
cholia." Two  years  later,  when  the  Countess  of  Not- 
tingham confessed,  on  her  death-bed,  the  perfidy 
her  husband  had  forced  her  to  commit  by  pre- 
venting her  from  returning  to  the  Queen  the  fatal 
ring,  as  a  token  of  the  repentance  of  Essex  and  as 
a  means  of  obtaining  the  clemency  of  his  queen,  Eliza- 
beth was  no  longer  able  to  restrain  her  deep  emotion. 
"The  Lord  may  forgive  you,"  she  said  to  the  dying 
Countess,  "but  I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  it!"  From 
that  moment  the  fatal  blow  began  to  take  effect.  She 
hardly  consented  in  taking  any  more  food  and  refused 
all  the  remedies  given  to  her,  saying  that  she  only  desired 
death  ! 

Returning  to  the  description  of  the  last  mentioned 
scene,  I  then  suggest  with  bitterness:  "that  Lady  Bur- 
leigh has  not  understood  me.  '  '  I  deplore  that  I  am  forced, 
for  the  first  time  in  the  many  years  of  my  reign,  to  express 
a  wish  without  being  obeyed.  In  order  to  suppress  any 
sense  of  repentance,  I  picture  to  myself  Essex  as  a  rebel 
deserving  all  my  severity.  Then  the  fear  of  committing 
an  injustice  causes  me  to  tremble!  .  .  Remorse  tor- 
ments me,  and  becoming  a  prey  to  it  my  imagination 
causes  me  to  see  the  ghost  of  Mary  Stuart,  that  for  a  long 
time  after  her  horrible  end  disturbed  my  sleep.  .  . 
causing  me  to  rise  from  my  bed  terrified!  .  .  Then, 
recovering  my  senses,  I  blush  at  my  weakness,  and  over- 
come with  self -contempt  and  discomfiture — imagining  I 
see  the  so-much-desired  ring  brought  to  me — with  all  the 
energy  of  my  being  and  of  my  offended  love,  forgetting 
all  but  State  reasons,  and  the  dignity  of  the  Crown,  I 
sanction  the  decision  of  the  Judges,  and  quickly  sign  the 
sentence.  My  heart  is  then  broken!  Davison,  who  has 
been  sent  to  me  by  Lord  Burleigh,  presents  himself  to 
take  away  the  sentence.  At  the  sight  of  him  I  tremble 
painfully,  and  strive  to  conceal  the  alteration  of  my  face. 
Forced  as  I  am  to  submit  to  the  sacrifice  imposed  on  me 
by  a  sense  of  duty,  I  slowly  hand  over  the  parchment 
with  a  trembling  hand  to  the  Master  of  the  Seal.  .  . 
But,  as  if  by  holding  it  back  in  my  hand  I  could  prolong 


154         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

for  a  few  minutes  the  life  of  Essex,  I  act  in  such  a  way 
to  make  Davison  humbly  try  to  take  it  from  my  hand, 
which  clenched  it  convulsively. 

As  soon  as  Davison  gets  the  document,  he  approaches 
the  door;  but  owing  to  a  new  sentiment  of  passion,  I 
hastily  call  him  back.  Davison  turns  around,  thinking 
he  is  to  receive  some  new  orders  ;  but  quickly  moved  by  a 
sense  of  my  dignity,  I  tell  him  to  hasten  and  have  the 
sentence  executed.  When  Davison  has  left,  I  give  free 
vent  to  my  despair,  accusing  Essex  of  having  dragged 
me  to  that  step. 

The  appearance  of  Lady  Nottingham,  who  comes 
hurriedly  to  ask  pardon  for  the  Earl,  again  increases  my 
wrath  and  I  see  in  her  only  a  rival.  But  on  hearing  that 
Howard  has  taken  away  from  her  the  ring  that  Essex 
had  intrusted  her  to  give  to  me  I  at  first  pretend  to  doubt 
her  assertion.  However,  after  the  oath,  upon  the  soul 
of  her  mother,  that  Lady  Sarah  utters,  every  suspicion 
vanishes.  In  a  paroxysm  of  alarm  I  order  my  page  to 
mount  my  faithful  steed,  Juar,  to  kill  him  in  the  run,  if 
necessary,  provided  he  overtakes  Davison  on  the  way 
to  the  Tower  and  requests  that  the  sentence  should  be 
torn  to  pieces,  promising  the  coronet  of  an  Earl  to  any 
one  among  my  vassals  who  succeeds  in  overtaking  Davi- 
son. A  few  instants  later.  Lord  Burleigh,  followed  by 
Bacon,  comes  in,  and  magisterially  announces  the  exe- 
cution of  Essex!  Hearing  the  news  I  remain  as  if  petrified, 
then  falling  upon  my  chair  in  a  subdued  voice  I  whisper  : 
"He  is  dead!  He  is  dead!"  I  then  slowly  rise,  and  with 
my  eyes  veined  with  blood,  trembling  through  all  my 
limbs,  I  exclaim:  "Before  the  sun  shall  set,  the  fatal 
bronze  will  roar  again"  (making  allusion  to  the  death  of 
Nottingham  that  I  was  about  to  order),  and  turning 
furiously  around  the  stage,  I  cry:  "I  must  have  in  my 
hands  the  head  of  the  Earl  of  Nottingham!"  Then  with 
an  outburst  of  despairing  grief,  I  continued:  "Ah!  my 
Robert  is  no  more!  .  .  .  the  only  man  that  I  have 
truly  loved  !  And  it  is  I  who  have  killed  him  !  .  .  .no 
one  has  dared  ask  his  pardon!  .  .  .  they  all  hated 
him!  and  yet  not  one  of  them  was  worthy  to  kiss  the 
dust  raised  by  his  horse  on  a  day  of  battle!    ...     " 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       155 

Noticing  that  Bacon  has  remained  at  one  side  I  rush 
furiously  upon  him,  obHging  him  to  advance,  and  filled 
with  venom,  I  say  to  him  :  "  And  you,  miserable  coward, 
you  were  nothing,  and  you  owe  only  to  Robert  if  you 
have  ever  become  anybody;  it  is  to  him  you  owe  the 
honours  I  have  bestowed  on  you.  .  .  .He  generously 
redeemed  you  from  shame  and  paid  your  debts.  He 
trusted  you  and  you  have  not  defended  him.  ...  It 
was  your  sacred  duty  to  plead  for  his  life  to  me;  you 
should  have  shown  me  Ireland  prostrated  .  .  .  Cadiz 
in  flames  .  .  .  you  should  have  broken  his  cuirass  .  .  . 
counted  one  after  the  other  his  wounds  .  .  .  offered 
them  to  me  as  a  pledge  for  his  life,  .  .  .  But  instead 
you  preferred  to  guide  the  hand  of  the  judges  when 
they  decreed  the  fatal  sentence,  and  to  direct  mine, 
when  I  confirmed  it.  .  .  .  Be  cursed!  Be  cursed  like 
Cain!   ..." 

All  those  present  advance  toward  me  in  the  endeavour 
to  placate  my  anger  while  I  imperiously  command:  "Go 
all  of  you!     ...    I  want  it!    .    .    ,    " 

Left  alone,  crushed  with  anguish,  shaken  by  so  many 
terrible  emotions,  I  do  not  dare  to  raise  my  eyes  to 
heaven,  fearing  its  wrath,  and  I  fall  prostrate  on  my  face, 
pronouncing  these  words:  "Here  .  .  .  alone  .  .  . 
in  a  pool  of  blood!  Alone  with  my  remorse  .  .  .  and 
with  God!  ..." 

The  curtain  drops. 

In  the  fifth  act  Elizabeth  is  nearing  her  end.  According 
to  the  history,  though  undermined  by  a  consuming  illness, 
still  her  iron  temperament  shows  prodigiously  at  times. 
The  fire  which  coursed  through  her  veins  in  past  years 
was  not  yet  extinguished,  some  sparks  of  it  still  lived. 

Making  my  appearance  on  the  stage,  my  looks  show 
the  change  that  advanced  age  has  made  in  my  face,  and 
also  the  impression  of  the  illness  which  is  consuming 
me.  My  words  make  conspicuous  the  artifice  I  use  in 
deluding  my  courtiers  regarding  the  rapid  progress  of  my 
illness.  I  enter  the  stage,  on  my  return  from  the  House 
of  Commons,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Burleigh,  covered  with 
my  royal  cape,  the  crown  on  my  head.     My  appearance 


156         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

is  that  of  a  person  still  labouring  under  nerv^ous  agi- 
tation; caused  by  a  lively  discussion,  which  has  taken 
place  in  the  Parliament.  Narrating  what  has  happened 
I  would  make  a  pretence  of  gaiety  which  surprises  those 
who  surround  me.  The  careless  arrangement  of  my  hair, 
the  wrinkles  of  my  face,  the  slow  movements  of  my  arms, 
reveal  to  the  audience,  that,  more  than  my  old  age,  there 
is  a  grief  undermining  my  existence.  I  answer  Burleigh, 
who  advises  me  to  sit  down  :  "  that  motion  is  life,  that 
on  account  of  having  been  seated  too  long  on  my  sedan 
chair,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  suffocating." 

On  my  returning  to  the  palace,  I  have  been  vividly 
impressed  by  noticing  how  few  people  had  gathered  to 
see  me  pass.  But  I  did  not  wish  my  old  Minister  to  know 
that  I  felt  this.  Looking  at  Burleigh  with  a  scrutinising 
glance,  in  a  tone  of  pretended  indifference,  I  address 
him  thus:  "Tell  me,  have  you  asked  my  good  English 
people  that  they  should  not  crowd  too  much  on  my 
passage  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  that  they  should  not  ap- 
plaud me?"  At  the  negative  answer  of  Burleigh,  with- 
out being  observed  by  him,  I  frown  and  sigh.  Then 
having  recourse  to  an  artifice,  with  an  indifferent  air,  I 
say  that  my  question  is  prompted  by  the  knowledge  that 
he  considered  me  ill  and  consequently  might  have  thought 
that  the  sight  of  a  crowding  throng  came  to  greet  me  on 
my  passage  might  disturb  me.  Then,  for  the  purpose  of 
assuring  him  that  I  am  perfectly  cured,  I  begin  gaily  to 
give  an  account  of  the  victory  gained  by  the  House  of 
Commons  in  its  defence  of  the  royal  property.  Having 
said  this  with  an  almost  childish  satisfaction,  I  add: 
"Ah!"  .  .  .  as  if  I  were  convinced  of  having  spoken 
admirably,  while  Burleigh  with  a  flattering  zeal,  like  a 
typical  courtier  would  approve.  Then,  turning  to  Bacon, 
I  tell  him  to  inform  Shakespeare  that  it  is  my  wish  that 
they  again  perform  "  Henry  VIII,"  because  I  enjoy  seeing 
myself  as  a  babe  in  the  arms  of  my  godmother!  I  give 
the  dispositions  for  the  preparations  of  a  feast.  Then, 
sitting  down,  I  ask  what  news  are  current  in  the  city,  and 
on  hearing  that  the  capture  of  the  Earl  of  Tyrone  is 
imminent,  turn  to  Burleigh,  and  say  to  him  jocosely: 
"  It  seems  to  me  I  have  well  chased  away  the  flies  from 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       157 

the  crown  of  England!"  Grasping  the  opportunity,  Bur- 
leigh adds  :  "  that  his  successor  would  certainly  receive 
her  splendidly  and  respect  her,  "  On  hearing  these  words, 
I  rise,  and  casting  a  penetrating  look  upon  him,  scrutinis- 
ing him  suspiciously,  as  I  already  have  the  knowledge  of 
his  secret  correspondence  with  James  VL  Burleigh  who 
has  guessed  this  suspicion  makes  an  apology  for  his  words, 
pleading  the  fear  that  he  feels  "  to  die  before  seeing  assured 
the  succession  to  the  Crown."  I  pretend  to  lend  faith 
to  his  words,  by  apparently  approving  them.  But  wishing 
to  return  to  that  ridiculous  farce,  I  ask  him:  "Upon 
whom,  according  to  your  advice,  should  the  'wise' 
choice  fall?"  "And  upon  who  else  but  the  young  King 
of  Scotland?"  he  replies.  Then,  bursting  with  hatred, 
which  I  had  with  difficulty  restrained  to  that  moment, 
I  cry  out  at  him,  grasping  his  arm  :  "  There,  I  recognise 
you,  traitor!"  "Burleigh  a  traitor?"  "Yes,  because  you 
keep  up  a  secret  correspondence  with  James."  "No, 
but  he  alone,  perhaps,  would  be  able  to  prevent  a  civil 
war  in  England."  "Such  is  also  my  feeble  opinion,"  adds 
Davison. 

Thrown  into  a  paroxysm  of  anger  I  repeat  :  "  Civil  war! 
always  a  civil  war!  .  .  .  With  this  ghost  you  caused 
me  to  sentence  to  death  Suffolk,  Mary,  Babington,  Robert 
of  Essex!  ..."  Pronouncing  this  name,  the  cords 
of  my  heart  are  shaken,  my  hard  breathing  chokes  me,  my 
eyes  pour  forth  tears;  and  not  being  able  to  hold  them 
back,  I  repeat,  between  my  sobs,  the  name  of  Robert! 
They  all  crowd  around  me,  but  an  impulse  of  ire  getting 
the  upper  hand  of  my  grief,  I  order  them  to  leave,  their 
persistence  in  consoling  me  only  increases  my  anger. 
Broken  down  with  grief  and  physical  pains,  it  is  with 
difficulty  I  succeed  in  calming  myself.  After  a  long 
pause,  having  assured  myself  that  they  all  have  left  me 
and  that  I  am  no  longer  forced  to  dissimulate,  my 
body  and  my  mind  show  themselves  as  they  really 
are.  The  remembrance  of  the  death  of  Essex,  which 
I  had  myself  ordered,  tears  my  heart;  remorse 
gnaws  me,  prostrates  me,  I  feel  the  need  of  throw- 
ing myself  on  a  bed.  I  drag  myself  with  difficulty, 
my    body    bent,     reclining   my    head   and   placing  my 


158         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

hands  on  my  forehead,  I  touch  the  crown  which 
covers  it. 

"Ah!  this  is  also  a  great  weight!"  I  say  sighing,  "and 
still  I  have  worn  it  for  forty-four  years  and  it  seemed 
so  light  to  me!  "  After  a  short  pause,  I  ask  myself  :  "  And 
who  will  wear  you  after  me?  ...  "  But  soon  in 
an  altered  voice,  pushing  the  crown  away  from  me,  I 
gnimble,     "I  don't  wish  to  know." 

I  review  sadly  my  glorious  past,  and  deplore  that  no 
longer  I  hear  it  said:  "that  I  ride  like  Alexander,  that 
I  walk  like  a  Venus,  that  I  sing  and  play  like  Orpheus!" 
I  no  longer  hear  the  people  applaud  me  when  I  pass.  I 
bewail  that  my  chair  should  pass  through  the  streets  like 
a  bier!  Then,  I  ask  myself  if  it  is  because  I  have  become 
old!  Still  the  years  have  not  left  their  impression  upon 
me — I  would  repeat — there  is  not  a  silver  thread  among 
my  beautiful  golden  hair!  .  .  .  and  I  pass  my  hand 
through  my  hair  with  the  flattering  vanity  of  a  young 
girl.  Then,  with  an  expressive  gesture,  let  the  audience 
understand  that  in  order  to  ascertain  for  myself  how  my 
looks  are  I  want  to  consult  a  looking-glass  ;  but  as  soon  as 
I  see  myself  in  it  I  draw  back  with  disgust,  noticing  the 
deep  wrinkles  all  over  my  face,  the  languor  of  my  eyes, 
my  livid  and  sunken  cheeks.  My  breathing  becomes 
difficult,  my  eyes  troubled,  and  my  mind  distracted.  I 
am  frightened,  and  I  cry  repeatedly  :"  Help  !  help!"  But 
with  a  sudden  return  of  pride,  I  smother  my  cries,  press- 
ing my  mouth  with  a  handkerchief.  I  imagine  myself 
enshrouded  in  darkness,  I  see  the  white  shadows  of  bleed- 
ing ghosts  coming  toward  me.  In  order  to  escape  from 
them  and  not  be  grasped  by  one  of  them  I  huddle  up  in 
my  bed;  but  the  heads  which  have  been  cut  off  from 
the  bodies,  seem  to  roll  down  at  my  feet,  they  terrify  me, 
and  becoming  the  prey  of  horrible  spasms  I  again  fall  on 
my  bed,  asking  with  joined  hands  and  suffocating  voice, 
for  mercy!  After  a  long  pause  I  somewhat  recover  myself. 
Without  opening  my  eyes  and  with  a  half-choked  voice, 
I  ask  for  Burleigh,  that  he  come  to  help  me.  But  James 
VI,  who  is  hiding  in  my  boudoir,  runs  at  my  cries,  and 
helps  me  to  rise  before  I  recognise  him.  When  on  my  feet 
again,  having  perceived  James,  I  feel  terrified,  and  with 


ELIZABETH,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND       159 

loud  cries  I  call  for  my  guards  and  my  ladies  in  waiting 
to  defend  me.  They  all  come  running  and  surround  me. 
Then,  with  interrupted  ejaculations,  owing  to  my  fright, 
and  with  trembling  gestures,  I  indicate  James  to  Burleigh, 
who  reassures  me  saying:  "That  he  was  no  one  else  but 
the  King  of  Scotland  who  had  come  to  London  to  inquire 
for  my  health,"  and  I  ask:  "But  why  does  he  carry  in 
his  hands  the  head  of  his  mother  ?  .  .  .  what  does 
he  want  to  do  with  it?  .  .  .  does  he  want  to  throw 
it  at  my  face?  ...  "  Hearing  such  words,  James 
advances  toward  me.  I,  being  terrified,  utter  a  cry,  and 
run  into  the  arms  of  my  people,  covering  my  face  with 
both  my  hands,  as  if  to  escape  contact  with  the  head  of 
Mary  Stuart.  After  the  assurances  of  all  my  courtiers  and 
of  James  himself,  I  quiet  down  and  covering  my  eyes  with 
my  right  hand,  with  a  childish  fearing  hesitancy,  I  look 
through  my  fingers  to  see  if  James  has  not  lied  to  me,  and 
being  assured  of  the  truth  of  what  he  said,  I  take  courage 
gradually  and  breathe  easier,  a  light  smile  comes  to  my 
lips,  I  repeat  to  all  that  it  has  been  nothing  but  a  night- 
mare, and  would  end  by  saying:  "I  am  better!  I  am 
better!  "  At  that  moment  Drake  returns  from  his  mission, 
bringing  news  of  the  arrest  of  Tyrone.  Though  weakened 
by  the  suffering  she  has  passed  through,  at  that  annoimce- 
ment  Elizabeth  utters  a  cry  of  joy  on  hearing  that  the 
one  who  has  made  her  tremble  on  the  throne  has  been 
humiliated,  and  gives  orders  that  he  be  immediately 
beheaded.  Drake  makes  her  understand  that  he  would 
never  have  the  terrible  Irishman  in  his  hands  if  he  had 
not  surrendered  himself,  trusting  in  the  magnanimity 
of  the  great  queen.  Penetrated  by  such  words,  and 
experiencing  a  return  of  generous  sentiments,  I  remain 
for  an  instant  meditative  and  perplexed.  With  a  signifi- 
cant look,  I  consult  Burleigh,  who  answers  with  signs 
that  he  should  be  pardoned.  Then  I  say  with  dignity 
to  Drake:  "He  who  has  considered  me  great,  shall  not 
find  me  less  than  my  fame.     .     .     .     I  forgive  him  !  " 

But  the  last  moments  of  Elizabeth  are  approaching, 
already  her  strength  is  leaving  her.  Burleigh  and  the 
maids  take  her  staggering  to  her  bed  and  place  her  on  it. 
Feeling   herself   dying,  Elizabeth   consents   to  select  a 


i6o         iMEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

successor.  I  loak  at  James  in  such  a  way  as  to  convey  that 
my  choice  should  fall  upon  him;  I  cause  him  to  kneel 
before  me;  Lady  Burleigh  hands  me  the  crown,  and  at 
the  moment  I  am  about  to  crown  him,  I  say  to  him  with 
difificulty:  "Kneel  down.  .  .  .  I  crown  you  as  king! 
,  .  .  "  These  words  came  out  of  my  lips,  as  if  they 
were  torn  out  of  my  heart.  The  people  who  were  notified 
from  the  balcony  by  a  signal  from  Davison  that  the  great 
deed  was  done,  begin  to  cry:  "Long  live  James  I,  King 
of  England." 

On  hearing  those  cries  I  become  infuriated.  I  call  my 
people  ungrateful.  I  tear  the  crown  from  the  head  of 
James,  place  it  on  my  own  with  both  my  hands  and  cry  : 
"Ungrateful  people!     I  am  still  alive!     ...     " 

But  my  strength  totally  abandons  me,  I  lie  down  on 
the  bed,  and  with  my  dying  voice  I  recommend  to  James 
"  the  Bible  and  the  sword  of  my  father." 

The  delirium  and  the  agony  of  death  are  taking  hold  of 
me.  The  remembrance  of  Essex  comes  to  me;  it  seems 
as  if  I  saw  him  I  would  reach  my  arms  to  him  as  though 
to  draw  him  to  me  and  give  him  a  forgiving  kiss,  and  after 
a  short  struggle  with  death,  I  finally  succumb,  remaining 
there  with  glassy  eyes,  surrounded  by  my  courtiers,  who, 
while  weeping,   repeat:  "She  is  dead!" 

This  is  the  manner  in  which  I  thought  to  interpret  this 
great  drama  of  Paolo  Giacometti.  I  studied,  as  I  said, 
within  the  limits  of  history  that  strange  character  of 
woman  and  queen.  I  developed  the  last  scenes,  which 
may  be  called  the  climax  of  the  drama,  with  firmness, 
with  persuasion,  with  all  the  shading  from  vigour  to 
senility.  Those  lines  which  are  the  prelude  of  a  most 
bitter  farewell  to  a  long  past  of  power,  I  studied  to  inter- 
pret in  a  way  to  make  one  understand  the  fascination 
she  exercised  upon  her  people  during  her  reign,  and  the 
remorse  which  grew  constantly  greater  with  the  approach 
of  death. 


CHAPTER  III 

LADY  MACBETH — A  DRAMA  BY   WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE 

The  study  of  this  character  was  for  me  the  source  of 
great  difficulties,  seeing  before  me  not  the  ordinary  person, 
filled  with  perverted  passions  and  frivolous  excesses, 
but  a  colossal  conception  of  perfidy,  of  dissimulation,  of 
hypocrisy,  which  is  treated  with  a  masterly  grandeur  by 
Shakespeare  with  so  many  hyperbolical  manifestations 
as  to  frighten  any  dramatic  genius. 

Some  of  the  critics,  going  back  to  the  origin  of  the 
legend  from  which  Shakespeare  gained  his  inspiration, 
form  the  opinion  that  love  for  her  husband  was  predom- 
inant in  Lady  Macbeth,  and  so  strong  as  to  induce  her  to 
become  guilty  of  many  crimes  for  the  sake  of  seeing  him 
reign. 

With  me,  the  close  investigation  of  this  character,  pro- 
duced the  conviction  that  with  Lady  Macbeth  affection 
for  her  husband  was  the  last  factor  actuating  her  deeds — 
that  she  was  animated  only  by  her  excessive  ambition  to 
reign  with  him,  and  that,  knowing  his  inferiority  of  mind, 
his  weak  nature,  which  was  not  able  even  to  move  the 
greed  for  possession  which  burned  in  his  veins  and  in  his 
brain  to  action — she  used  her  affection  for  him  as  a  means 
to  satisfy  her  ambition.  Being  conscious  of  the  fascina- 
tion that  she  exercised  over  him,  she  took  advantage  of 
it  for  the  purpose  of  instilling  into  his  mind  the  virus  of 
crime  putting  it  in  the  most  natural  light  and  with  the 
most  insinuating  and  persuasive  reasonings. 

By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Macbeth  did  not 
possess  a  nature  inclined  to  do  evil.  Shakespeare  shows 
us  the  germ  of  ambition  that  was  gnawing  him,  and  the 
kind  of  chimerical  illusions  that  ran  through  his  mind. 
He  only  concealed  them  from  others  because  it  seemed 
to  him  impossible  to  make  them  realities.  I  could  not 
better  succeed  in  depicting  the  nature  of  this  man,  than 

i6i 


102         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Shakespeare  so  marvellously  does  in  the  lines  of  the  first 
monologue  of  Lady  Macbeth  who,  owing  to  her  profound 
perspicacity,  so  well  understands  her  husband.  This 
appreciation  of  mine  will  appear  even  more  evident  in 
the  analysis  I  make  further  on  of  that  passage.  Perhaps 
one  might  admit  a  similar  monstrous  tenderness  in  Lady 
Macbeth  if  she  had  not  shared  together  with  her  husband 
the  power  and  the  royal  greatness;  but  as  they  derived 
from  their  crime  all  its  advantages,  I  maintain  that  it 
was  not  solely  owing  to  her  ambition  and  love  for  her 
husband  that  she  became  its  instigator,  but  also  for  the 
sake  of  obtaining  the  supreme  honours  and  powers  which 
she  so  much  longed  for.  Any  mother,  any  woman  who 
pretends  to  know  how  great  is  the  love  for  a  son  who  has 
been  nursed  with  her  own  milk,  and  is  able  to  declare  to 
her  husband,  without  tremour,  that  if  she  had  sworn  to 
crush  the  skull  of  her  own  child  she  would  not  have  hesi- 
tated a  moment  (and  this  to  make  Macbeth  feel  ashamed 
of  his  pusillanimity  in  flinching  before  the  only  means 
suitable  to  his  guilty  purpose),  is  not  a  woman,  not  a 
human  being,  but  a  creature  worse  than  a  wild  beast, 
and  as  such,  it  cannot  be  admitted  that  there  existed  in 
her  any  sweet  affection.  Nevertheless,  not  wishing  to 
proclaim  my  conception  as  an  infallible  one,  I  made  new 
studies  and  new  investigations  of  the  various  judgments 
of  this  tragedy  and  the  interpretations  that  some  of  the 
most  renowned  actors  had  adopted. 

Great  was  my  satisfaction  on  reading  in  the  magazine 
The  Nineteenth  Century,  of  February,  1878,  the 
magnificent  study  made  by  Mr,  G.  J.  Bell,  Professor  of 
Laws,  in  the  Edinburgh  University,  of  the  interpretation 
which  the  renowned  English  actress,  Mrs.  Siddons,  gave 
to  the  part  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Among  the  various  pas- 
sages this  one  is,  according  to  my  opinion,  most  im- 
portant: "Her  troublesome  and  inhimian  nature  does 
everything.  She  draws  Macbeth  to  gratify  her  purpose, 
she  uses  him  as  a  simple  instrument,  becoming  herself 
his  guide,  his  leader,  insinuating  to  him  all  the  plot.  As 
the  wicked  genius  of  Macbeth,  she  rushes  him  along  the 
crazy  path  of  ambition  and  cruelty,  from  which  he  would 
have  liked  to  withdraw." 


i'..li\rii,'lu.  i3=<7,  tiy  Gebbie  &  Co. 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  LADY  MACBETH 
Act  III.  Scene  4  (The  Banquet  Scene) 


LADY  MACBETH  163 

Hoping  that  I  have  plainly  shown,  with  substantial 
arguments,  that  my  interpretation  of  the  character  of 
Lady  Macbeth,  was  as  Shakespeare  had  intended  and 
indicated  it  to  be  by  his  own  words  and  the  nature  of  the 
action,  I  shall  proceed  with  the  analysis  of  other 
important  points  of  this  difficult  part. 

Various  are  the  opinions  referring  to  the  interpretation 
of  the  reading  of  the  message,  which  Macbeth  sends  from 
the  field  of  battle  to  his  wife,  and  which  Shakespeare 
makes  her  hold  in  her  hands  at  her  first  appearance  upon 
the  stage.  There  are  some  who  maintain  that  a  message 
coming  to  her  from  her  husband  at  such  a  moment 
should  fill  her  with  so  great  a  desire  to  know  its 
contents  that  it  would  not  appear  unnatural  for  her 
to  wait  until  she  comes  before  the  audience  to  read 
it,  and  hence  she  should  have  taken  knowledge  of  it 
before. 

I  will  say  instead,  that  it  was  not  very  natural  either 
that  Shakespeare,  that  great  poet,  that  great  philosopher 
and  reader  of  human  nature,  should  have  employed  the 
frivolous  expedient  of  having  Lady  Macbeth  read  the 
letter  on  the  stage  with  the  sole  object  of  making  the 
audience  acquainted  with  its  contents,  exposing  himself 
to  such  an  obvious  criticism.  Only  an  inexperienced 
and  insignificant  writer,  dull  of  mind  and  imagina- 
tion, would  have  had  recourse  to  such  an  expedient, 
not  the  great  poet  of  the  fervid  imagination,  who 
passes  from  the  beautiful  to  the  sublime  with  the 
greatest  facility. 

It  must  certainly  have  been  purposely  devised  by  the 
author  in  order  that  it  should  appear  that  Lady  Macbeth 
has  received  the  message  a  little  before  the  moment  she 
comes  on  the  stage  and  her  manner  is  both  easy  and 
natural.  When  she  begins  to  look  anxious  and  agitated, 
she  makes  the  spectators  understand  that  owing  to  his 
message — ^whose  contents  she  partly  knows — some  great 
events  are  revealed  which  will  change  all  her  existence, 
and  carry  her  to  a  supreme  height,  and  all  the  circum- 
stances of  the  play  indicate  the  culmination  of  the  pro- 
jects which  are  brewing  in  her  mind.  Another  proof 
that    Lady    Macbeth    is    presenting    herself    before    the 


104         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

audience,   has  already  commenced  the  reading  of  the 
message,  is  shown  by  the  first  verse  which  she  reads  : 

"They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success." 

Can  this  be  the  beginning  of  an  important  message? 
Macbeth  must  already  have  given  her  the  account  of  the 
battle,  of  the  victory  and  of  the  existence  of  the  witch 
sisters. 

I  resolved  to  read  that  missive  straight  down  as  if  I 
had  already  read  the  first  words  of  it  while  I  was  entering 
the  stage,  only  stopping  at  the  places  where  the  strange 
knowledge  of  what  has  happened  is  in  accord  with  what 
the  regulating  destiny  of  all  the  events  had  long  before 
led  her  to  foresee. 

For  instance  my  expression  would  portray  a  super- 
stitious wonder  on  reading  that  the  fatal  sisters  "made 
themselves  air,  into  which  they  vanished,"  after  the 
prophecy  they  had  cast  at  him,  addressing  him:  "Hail, 
king  that  shalt  be!" 

Having  ended  the  reading  I  make  a  long  pause,  as  if 
analysing  the  fatal  content  of  that  missive,  which  was  in 
accordance  with  what  I  had  anticipated.  Then,  for  a 
moment  I  remain  sadly  steeped  in  thought,  gloomy, 
considering  and  fearing  on  account  of  the  weak  nature  of 
my  husband  ;  then  reflecting  on  the  most  striking  passages 
of  the  missive,  I  say  : 

"Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor,  and  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised." 

And  to  that  "shalt  be"  I  would  give  a  supernatural 
force  of  expression. 

Later  on,  I  was  happy  to  read  in  the  interesting  essay 
of  Prof.  Bell  that  Mrs.  Siddons,  also,  with  a  prophetic  and 
exalted  tone,  as  if  all  the  mysteries  of  the  future  were 
present  to  her  soul,  in  the  lines:  "Glamis  thou  art  and 
Cawdor,  and  shalt  be  what  thou  art  promised,"  accent- 
uated emphatically  "shalt  be." 

This  is  another  convincing  proof  that  Mrs.  Siddons 
also  understood  the  importance  of  analysing  the  missive, 
of  weighing  every  sentence,  in  order  to  transmit  to  the 
public  the  mystic  meaning.     With  her  eager  ambition, 


LADY  MACBETH  165 

the  expression  would  naturally  have  been  different  if 
Lady  Macbeth  had  had  the  whole  knowledge  of  the 
missive. 

I  found  it  natural  to  read  the  following  verses  which  are 
a  part  of  the  monologue  I  have  mentioned  above,  and 
which  depict  in  its  most  vivid  colours  the  nature  of  Mac- 
beth's  character,  as  if  I  were  uttering  them  before  him- 
self, penetrating  with  my  eye  the  depths  of  his  soul,  as 
if  I  wanted  to  impress  the  words  there  in  fiery  characters  : 

" Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature; 

It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 

To  catch  the  nearest  way.     Thou  wouldst  be  great  ; 

Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 

The  illness  should  attend  it  :  what  thou  wouldst  highly, 

That  wouldst  thou  holily  ;  wouldst  not  play  false, 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win  :  thou'dst  have,  great  Glamis, 

That  which  cries,  '  Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it  '  ; 

And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 

That  wishest  should  be  undone." 

For  the  sake  of  showing  later  that  my  preoccupation 
had  vanished  and  that  I  was  ardently  longing  for  the 
return  of  my  husband  in  order  to  commence  the  web  of 
my  malignant  artifices,  I  would  say: 

" Hie  thee  hither. 

That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear, 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crown 'd  withal." 

I  would  then  turn  myself  toward  that  side  from  which 
Macbeth  had  to  come  back,  in  order  to  express  that — 
after  due  reflection — I  had  commenced  to  form  in  my 
mind  the  plan  that  the  reading  of  the  message  would 
naturally  have  suggested  to  me. 

The  frightful  soliloquy  in  the  scene  which  follows  the 
departure  of  the  messenger,  reveals  all  the  diabolical 
perfidy  and  cruelty  of  this  monster  in  human  likeness,  and 
this  inhuman  power  with  which  she  is  armed  in  order  to 
succeed  in  leading  her  husband  to  become  the  instrument 
of  her  ambition.  In  a  word,  she  becomes  the  Satanic 
spirit  of  the  body  of  Macbeth.  He  has  a  hard  struggle 
between  the  "wishing  and  not  wishing";  that  woman. 


i66         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

that  serpent,  becomes  absolute  mistress  of  this  man, 
entwines  him  in  her  grasp,  and  no  himian  power  can  ever 
tear  him  from  it.  Consequently,  the  first  words  of  this 
monologue  I  pronounced  in  a  cavernous  voice,  with  my 
eyes  bloodshot,  with  the  accent  of  a  spirit  which  comes 
from  the  abyss,  and  I  ended  it  with  a  crescendo  of 
thundering  voice,  which  changed  into  an  exaggerated 
expression  of  joy  on  beholding  my  husband  enter. 

During  this  first  scene  with  Macbeth  I  show  a  cold, 
reserved  and  patient  demureness,  not  minding  at  all  the 
weak  denials  of  my  husband  in  his  endeavour  not  to 
listen  to  my  criminal  insinuations.  I  make  it  apparent 
that  he  will  have  to  yield  to  my  influence.  I  therefore 
imagined  a  counter-scene  at  the  exit  of  the  person cf,  in 
order  to  portray  the  powerful  fascination  that  this  woman 
exercised  upon  her  husband.  I  fancy  that  Macbeth  wished 
to  interrogate  me  again  and  ask  of  me  further  explana- 
tions. For  the  purpose  of  preventing  him,  I  had  the 
thought  of  inducing  him  to  pass  his  left  arm  around  my 
waist.  In  that  attitude  I  take  his  right  hand  and  placing 
his  index  finger  upon  my  lips  I  charge  him  to  be  silent, 
in  the  meanwhile  I  am  slowly  pushing  him  behind  the 
wings,  his  back  turned  to  them.  All  this  was  executed 
with  a  mingling  of  sentiments  and  magnetising  glances, 
which  fascinations  Macbeth  could  not  very  well  resist. 

The  hypocrisy,  the  false  himiility  of  Lady  Macbeth 
must  be  excessive  when  she  goes  to  meet  King  Duncan, 
and  with  the  most  perfidious,  simulated  sweetness 
invites  the  old  man  to  enter  the  castle. 

In  the  following  scene  between  Lady  Macbeth  and 
her  husband,  it  is  necessary  to  delineate  clearly  and 
strongly  two  things:  First,  her  energetic  reproof  of 
Macbeth  for  his  pusillanimity  in  not  wanting  to  do  at 
that  moment  what  he  had  wished  a  little  before — a  sud- 
den change  of  mind  caused  by  his  vacillating  conscience; 
second,  in  contrast  with  this  energy,  the  fiendish  per- 
suasive art  that  she  brings  into  play  in  order  to  render 
simple  and  natural  the  plan  of  the  proposed  crime  and  the 
impossibility  of  its  detection. 

Various  are  the  terrible  passages  of  this  scene.  The 
most    majestic   is   the   one    in    which    Lady    Macbeth 


LADY  MACBETH  167 

reproves  her  husband  for  having  so  abruptly  left  the 
scene,  causing  his  absence  to  be  noticed  ;  and  the  other  in 
which  Macbeth  begs  his  wife  not  to  press  him  any  further, 
as  the  carrying  through  of  the  projected  crime  would  be  a 
horrible  ingratitude     .     .     . 

To  such  a  prayer  the  perfidious  woman  replies: 

" Was  the  hope  drunk 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?     hath  it  slept  since? 

And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 

At  what  it  did  so  freely?  From  this  time 

Such  I  account  thy  love.     Are  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour 

As  thou  art  in  desire?     Wouldst  thou  have  that 

Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 

And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem. 

Letting  'I  dare  not'  wait  upon  'I  would,' 

Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ?  " 

Everybody  knows  that  she  makes  allusion  to  the 
proverb:  "The  cat  would  take  the  fish  without  wetting 
his  paw." 

Macbeth    "  .     .     .     .     Prithee  peace 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man  ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none." 

At  this  point  Lady  Macbeth,  in  the  fear  of  seeing  all 
her  ambitious  dream  vanish  away,  in  a  diabolical  tone 
says: 

" What  beast  was't  then 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both  : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  her  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.     I  have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  't  is  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me  : 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this." 

After  this  the  vacillation  which  is  characteristic  of 
the  nature  of  Macbeth  induces  him  to  ask  his  wife  : 

".     .  ....     If  we  should  faU?" 


i68         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

To  which  I  answer  in  a  sneering  way: 

" Wefail. 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place, 
And  we'll  not  fail.     When  Duncan  is  asleep — 
Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  journey 
Soundly  invite  him — his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince 
That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain, 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only  :  when  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie,  as  a  death. 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan?     what  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell?" 

These  textual  fragments  are  sufficient  to  me  to  con- 
firm my  interpretation  preceding  these  lines. 

I  jump  straight  to  the  second  act,  there  being  only 
some  clear  situations  furthering  the  procedure  of  the 
action  which  do  not  offer  any  difficulty  in  their  interpre- 
tation, though  they  embrace  the  tremendous  impressions 
which,  later  on,  torment  the  waking  hours  and  cause  the 
agony  of  Lady  Macbeth.  All  will  easily  understand  the 
anxiety  that  she  experienced  to  discover  the  result  of 
the  attempt  against  Duncan's  life,  which  she  had  so  well 
planned  ;  the  joy  of  knowing  that  it  was  done,  the  agita- 
tion arising  from  terror  which  dominated  her,  the  fear 
and  the  exaggerated  remorse  of  her  husband.  The 
fright  she  experiences  when  she  hears  knocking  at  the 
door  of  the  castle  with  so  much  insistence,  is  not  caused 
by  a  cowardly  fear  that  the  crime  may  soon  be  discovered, 
but  by  the  state  of  prostration  of  Macbeth  which  may 
betray  everything. 

In  the  third  act  there  are  situations  worthy  of  special 
comment,  which  I  am  going  to  analyse  in  detail  showing 
that  I  have  studied  to  produce  them  as  they  were  out- 
lined by  the  author. 

It  is  in  this  act  that  one  can  plainly  see  the  skill  of 
Shakespeare.  Lady  Macbeth  must — not  only  with 
words  but  with  her  "stage  business" — either  diminish 
or  enlarge  a  great  many  of  the  striking  episodes  of  the 
drama.  Such  considerations  led  me  to  make  a  logical 
analytical  study  of  this  part.     For  instance,  I  did  not 


LADY  MACBETH  169 

allow  to  pass  unobserved  the  entrance  of  the  hired 
assassin,  who  comes  in  to  announce  to  Macbeth  the 
accomplishment  of  the  murder  of  Banquo,  and  the  failure 
of  the  attempt  against  Fleance's  life.  This  news,  which 
causes  two  very  different  forms  of  emotion,  should  not 
escape  a  watching  eye  like  that  of  Lady  Macbeth.  And 
then  again,  at  the  sight  of  the  hired  murderer  who 
presents  himself  in  the  banquet  hall,  she  must  be  the 
only  person  to  see  that  man  speaking  in  a  whisper  to  her 
husband,  and  to  notice  his  excited  gestures,  never  losing 
sight  of  him  for  a  moment.  She  fears  some  imprudence 
on  his  part,  remembering  that  Macbeth  has  told  her 
shortly  before  "  that  a  great  deed  would  be  accomplished 
to  cause  her  wonder." 

I  have  taken  into  consideration  that  during  this  scene 
Lady  Macbeth  must  show  her  fear,  lest  the  guests  may 
notice  this  strange  conversation  between  Macbeth  and 
the  murderer,  in  that  place  and  at  that  moment,  and 
suspect  some  wrong-doing  against  themselves.  I  found 
it,  therefore,  necessary  to  play  a  double  part,  a  dramatic 
one!, with  Macbeth  and  a  graceful  one  with  my  guests. 
While  taking  part  in  the  conversation  and  the  toasts 
that  the  guests  are  making  who  remain  seated  upon 
their  stools,  I  cast  at  intervals  fearful  and  investigating 
glances  toward  my  husband  and  the  hired  murderer; 
and  in  order  to  draw  Macbeth's  attention  to  me  and 
warn  him  of  the  danger  he  runs  of  betraying  himself  by 
some  imprudence,  I  say  in  a  vibrant  tone  of  voice,  and 
with  ostentatious  jovialty. 

" My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer  ;  the  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouch 'd,  while  't  is  a-making, 
'T  is  given  with  welcome  :  to  feed  were  best  at  home  ; 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony  : 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it.  '  ' 

With  the  same  "scenic  business,"  but  with  a  more 
marked  accentuation  than  before,  in  a  reproachful  tone, 
half-serious,  half-jesting,  I  give  him  the  following  warning  : 

".      .      .      My  worthy  lord, 
Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you." 


I70         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

I  utter  these  words  so  that  Macbeth  alone  could  under- 
stand my  object  in  calling  his  attention.  This  is 
apparently  justified  by  the  fear  that  Macbeth  should 
fail  to  be  courteous,  and  neglect  his  guests. 

1  would  show  great  agitation  and  great  fright  at  the 
incomprehensible  and  furious  visions  of  Macbeth,  seeing 
that  he  is  on  the  verge  of  revealing  the  secret  of  our 
guilt.  Though  the  reproach  is  a  bitter  one,  Lady  Mac- 
beth, by  speaking  to  her  guests,  should  keep  up  her  pre- 
tended gaiety  with  her  facial  expression,  and  apologise 
for  the  eccentricities  of  her  husband  by  attributing  them 
to  an  old  infirmity  of  his. 

In  the  end,  finding  that  all  her  efforts  at  repressing  the 
strange  horrors  of  Macbeth  have  proved  vain,  the  noble 
lady  sees  herself  forced  to  take  leave  of  the  guests  in  an 
excited  manner,  in  order  to  be  alone  with  Macbeth  and 
put  an  end  to  a  situation  which  becomes  dangerous. 

After  the  guests'  departure,  I  thought  it  best  to  begin 
to  indicate  the  state  of  prostration  of  Lady  Macbeth,  by 
imagining  a  counter-scene  showing  distress  and  failing 
power,  making  manifest  my  painful  conviction  that  it  is 
useless  to  struggle  against  the  adverse  destiny  which  has 
suddenly  risen  before  me.  I  show  how  remorse  begins  to 
torment  me,  and  in  showing  the  beginning  of  those  terri- 
ble sufferings  I  found  it  necessary  for  its  justification 
to  render  realistic  the  impending  end  of  that  great 
criminal. 

At  the  end  of  the  act,  at  the  moment  of  leaving,  I 
make  it  apparent  that  I  am  penetrated  with  a  deep  sense 
of  pity  for  Macbeth  who  for  my  sake  has  become  the 
most  miserable  of  men,  and  tell  him: 

"You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep." 

I  take  hold  of  his  left  hand  with  my  right  and  place  it 
over  my  right  shoulder,  then  painfully  bending  my  head 
in  deep  reflection  and  turning  toward  my  husband 
with  a  look  filled  with  the  remorse  which  is  agitating 
my  mind,  I  drag  him  toward  our  chamber  in  the  same 
manner  that  one  leads  an  insane  person.  When 
reaching  the  limit  of  the  stage  Macbeth,  frightened  by 
the  tail  of  his  cloak  trailing  at  my  feet,  again  shudders 


LADY  MACBETH  171 

suddenly.  Then,  with  a  quick  turn,  I  pass  on  the  other 
side  of  him,  and  try  to  master  the  terror  with  which 
I  am  also  seized  in  spite  of  myself.  Using  a  little  vio- 
lence I  succeed  in  pushing  him  behind  the  wings,  while 
quieting  him  with  affectionate  gestures. 

This  mode  of  acting  was  not  contradictory  to  the  logic 
and  reality  of  the  situation,  and  always  produced  a  great 
effect. 

In  the  fifth  act  Lady  Macbeth  appears  only  in  a  scene 
of  short  duration,  but  which  is  the  most  marvellous  one 
among  all  the  philosophical  conceptions  of  the  author, 
and  it  offers  to  the  actress  a  very  difficult  study  of  inter- 
pretation. 

This  woman,  this  colossus  of  both  physical  and  moral 
force,  who  with  one  single  word  had  the  faculty  of  imaging 
and  causing  the  execution  of  deeds  of  hellish  character — 
there  she  is,  now  reduced  to  her  own  shadow  which,  like 
the  bony  carcass  left  bare  by  a  vulture,  is  eaten  up  by  the 
remorse  preying  on  her  mind.  In  her  trouble  she  becomes 
so  thoroughly  unconscious  of  herself  as  to  reveal  in  her 
sleep  her  tremendous,  wicked  secret.  But  what  do  I 
say  "in  her  sleep?"  It  is  like  a  fever  which,  rising  to  her 
brain,  softens  it.  The  physical  suffering  taking  hold  of 
her  mind  with  the  recollection  of  the  evil  of  which  she  has 
been  the  cause  masters  and  regulates  all  her  actions, 
causing  her,  spasmodically,  to  give  different  directions  to 
her  thoughts.  The  very  words  that  the  gentlewoman 
says  to  the  doctor  prove  it: 

"Since  his   Majesty  went  into   the   fields,  I    have    seen   her 
rise  from  bed,  throw  her  nightgown  upon  her,   unlock  her 
closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  and  again 
return  to  bed;  yet  all  this  while  in  a  most  fast  sleep." 

The  true  rendering  of  this  artificial  and  double  mani- 
festation and  the  fusing  of  these  effects  without  falling 
either  into  exaggeration  or  into  the  fantastic  at  every 
change  of  countenance,  of  gesture,  of  voice,  all  demanded 
from  me  a  most  exhaustive  study.  I  enter  the  stage 
with  the  looks  of  an  automaton,  dragging  my  feet  as  if 
they  wore  leaden  shoes.  I  mechanically  place  my  lamp 
upon  the  table,  taking  care  that  all  my  movements  are 
slow  and  intercepted  by  my  chilled  nerves.     With  a  fixed 


172         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

eye  which  looks  but  does  not  see ,  my  eyeHds  wide  open,  a 
difficult  mode  of  breathing,  I  constantly  show  the  nervous 
agitation  produced  by  the  derangement  of  my  brain.  It 
was  necessary  to  clearly  express  that  Lady  Macbeth  was 
a  woman  in  the  grasp  of  a  moral  disease  whose  effects 
and  whose  manifestations  w^ere  moved  by  a  terrible  cause. 
Having  placed  the  lamp  upon  the  table,  I  advance  as 
far  as  the  footlights,  pretending  to  see  on  my  hands  still 
some  spots  of  blood,  and  while  rubbing  them  I  make  the 
motion  of  one  who  takes  in  the  palms  of  his  hands  a 
certain  quantity  of  water  in  order  to  wash  them.  I  am 
very  careful  with  this  motion,  which  I  repeat  at  various 
moments.     After  this  I  say: 

"Yet  here's  a  spot.     Out  damned  spot!  out,  I  say!  " 

Then  listening,  I  say  softly  : 

"One:  two:  why,  then 't  is  time  to  do't." 

Then,  as  if  answering  : 

"Hell  is  murky! — Fie,  my  Lord,  fie!  a  soldier,  and  afraid? 
What  need  you  fear?  Who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call 
our  power  to  account." 

And  at  this  place,  returning  to  the  cause  of  my  delirium  : 

"Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so 
much  blood  in  him?" 

And  I  show  here  that  I  am  struck  by  the  colour  of 
blood  in  which  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  dipped  my 
hands.  Returning  to  my  manifestation  of  delirium,  I  add  : 

"The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife:  where  is  she  now?" 

And  looking  again  at  my  hands  with  an  expression 
between  rage  and  sadness  : 

"What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean?" 

With  a  convulsive  motion  I  rub  them  again.  Then, 
always  a  prey  to  my  delirium,  in  a  bitter  tone,  and  speak- 
ing excitedly,  I  pretend  to  whisper  in  Macbeth's  ear  : 

"No  more  o'  that  my  lord,  no  more  o'  that;  you  mar  all 
with  this  starting." 


LADY  MACBETH  173 

Then  coming  back  to  my  first  idea,  I  smell  my  hands, 
pretending  they  smell  of  blood,  and  I  break  forth  with 
passion  : 

"Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still:  all  the  perfumes  of 
Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.     Oh!  oh,  oh!" 

And  I  make  these  exclamations  as  if  an  internal  shudder 
convulsed  my  heart  and  caused  me  to  breathe  with  diffi- 
culty, after  which  I  remain  with  my  head  thrown  back, 
breathing  slowly,  as  if  in  a  deep  lethargy. 

During  the  short  dialogue  between  the  gentlewoman 
and  the  doctor,  I  pretend  in  my  delirium  to  be  taken  to 
the  scene  of  the  murder  of  Duncan,  and,  as  if  the  object 
of  my  regard  were  the  chamber  of  the  king,  bending  my 
body,  advancing  slowly  and  mysteriously  toward  my 
right  side  where  I  imagine  the  murder  has  taken  place, 
I  pretend  that  I  hear  the  quick  step  of  my  husband  and 
anxiously  inclining  my  ear  in  the  posture  of  one  who 
waits  I  express  how  Macbeth  is  coming  to  confirm  to  me 
the  accomplishment  of  the  deed.  Then,  with  an  out- 
burst of  joy,  as  if  I  saw  him  appear  and  announce  the 
deed,  feeling  very  much  agitated,  I  say  : 

"Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  nightgown;  look  not  so 
pale.  I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo's  buried;  he  cannot 
come  out  on's  grave." 

I  took  much  care  never  to  forget  that  the  woman  who 
spoke  was  in  troubled  sleep;  and  during  this  scene, 
between  one  thought  and  another,  I  would  emit  a  long, 
deep  and  painful  sigh. 

The  following  verses  : 

"To  bed,  to  bed!  there's  knocking  at  the  gate: 
Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand. 
What's  done  cannot  be  undone.     To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed!  " 

I  speak  these  words  in  an  insistent  tone,  as  if  it  were  a 
thing  that  should  be  done  quickly;  then,  frightened, 
fancying  that  they  knock  at  the  door  of  the  castle  and 
come  to  surprise  us,  I  show  great  emotion,  a  greater  fear, 
as  if  I  found  it  necessary  to  hide  ourselves  quickly  in  our 
own  rooms.  I  start  in  that  direction,  inviting  Macbeth 
to  follow  me,  saying  in  a  very  imperative  and  furious  tone  : 


174         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

"Come,  come,  come!  ...  "  Then,  simulating  the 
act  of  grasping  his  hand,  I  show  that  I  am  dragging  him 
with  great  pain,  and  disappear  from  the  sight  of  the 
audience,  saying  in  a  suffocating  voice  :  "  To  bed,  to  bed, 
to  bed!     .     .     .     " 

With  this  ends  the  "compendium"  of  the  manifes- 
tations and  of  the  strange  sentiment  of  this  character 
which  seems  as  though  it  could  not  have  been  conceived 
by  a  human  mind,  and  the  study  of  which  has  proved 
so  difficult  to  me,  owing  to  the  singularity  of  situations 
which  I  saw  myself  induced  to  portray  according  to  the 
imagination  of  the  poet. 

Though  I  flatter  myself  that  I  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  this  character  in  the  best  way  I  could,  I  trust  this 
analysis  of  mine — this  interpretation  of  the  part  of  Lady 
Macbeth — ^to  the  appreciation  of  the  critic.  From  what 
I  have  stated  it  must  be  clearly  evident  what  an  amount 
of  strenuous  study,  and  how  much  mental  labour  such 
an  interpretation  cost  me. 


>^ 


/■ 


ADELAIDE    RISTORI   AS   MEDEA 


CHAPTER  IV 

MEDEA — A  TRAGEDY  BY  LEGOUVÉ 

Without  making  any  attempt  to  review  the  dramatic 
art  of  the  remote  times  and  looking  only  at  the  present 
epoch,  I  will  say  that  the  argument  of  "Medea"  was 
again  dramatised  in  the  year  1810  by  a  renowned  Italian 
writer,  Gio.  Batt.  Niccolini.  Though  some  remarkable 
evidence  of  genius  appears  in  this  tragedy,  which  is  quite 
Greek  in  character — introducing  several  passages  taken 
from  Euripides  and  Seneca — yet  it  is  deficient  in  the  dis- 
play of  those  effects  which  appeal  mostly  to  the  obser- 
vation of  the  spectators,  and  is  in  places  rather  diffuse 
in  its  dialogue.  Consequently,  it  is  not  produced  as 
frequently  as  the  other  works  of  this  well-known  play- 
wright, Signor  Niccolini. 

Another  "Medea"  was  published  later  by  the  Duke  Delia 
Valle,  which  was  found  to  be  worthy  of  consideration  on 
account  of  his  having  unfolded  its  argument  in  a  most 
concise  way.  With  its  grandiose  Greek  impression,  and 
its  striking  scenic  effects,  this  tragedy  became  very  pop- 
ular. There  was  at  that  time  no  great  actress  who  did 
not  perform  it,  and  all  the  managers  of  dramatic  com- 
panies were  anxious  to  add  it  to  their  repertoires.  How- 
ever, I  never  liked  to  represent  that  version  of  "Medea" 
because,  nature  having  gifted  me  with  a  high  sense  of 
maternal  love,  the  thought  of  that  mother  who  with 
her  own  hand  slays  her  children,  was  too  repugnant  to 
me.  I  could  not  present  such  a  monstrosity  upon  the 
stage,  and  in  spite  of  the  pressing  requests  of  my  managers 
to  interpret  that  role  I  was  unable  to  overcome  my 
aversion  to  it. 

At  the  time  of  my  first  visit  to  France  in  the  year  1855 , the 
dissensions  between  the  celebrated  pla)rwright  Legouvé 
and  the  renowned  French  tragedienne  Mile.  Rachel  were 
of  recent  date. 

175 


176         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

After  having  given  a  few  performances  at  the  Salle 
Vanta  dour,  with  which  I  had  the  good  luck  to  captivate 
the  admiration  of  the  Parisians,  one  morning  my  maid 
announced  that  two  gentlemen  wished  to  see  me.  I  had 
hardly  finished  eating  my  lunch,  but  I  let  them  come  in. 

"I  am  Monsieur  Scribe" — one  of  them  told  me. 

"And  I  am  Monsieur  Legouvé" —  said  the  other. 

Who  does  not  know  those  names  in  Italy?  At  that 
time  they  were  performing  in  my  country,  a  large  number 
of  Scribe's  plays,  and  several  of  those  belonged  to  my 
repertoire,  as  for  instance  :  "  AdrienneLecouvreur,"  "Louise 
LignaroUes,  "  etc.  Consequently,  on  finding  myself  in 
the  presence  of  such  celebrities  I  felt  rather  abashed  and, 
at  the  same  time,  happy.  We  engaged  in  an  interesting 
and  vivacious  conversation,  in  which  all  of  their  pro- 
ductions included  in  my  repertoire  were  passed  in  review. 
In  consequence  of  the  courteous  insistence  of  my  two 
visitors,  I  consented  to  recite  to  them  some  passages  of 
"Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  and  they  had  the  kindness  to 
find  my  interpretation  highly  satisfactory.  Nothing 
further  was  said  during  that  visit.  But  a  few  days  later, 
I  again  saw  Mr.  Legouvé,  and  the  following  conversation 
took  place  between  us: 

"  Why  do  you  not  wish  to  play  my  "  Medea  ?  " 

"My  dear  Sir,"  I  answered,  "owing  to  a  most  serious 
reason.  I  cherish  such  a  strong  affection  for  children 
generally  that,  since  the  time  I  was  a  yoimg  girl,  when- 
ever I  chanced  to  meet  one  with  a  charming  little  face, 
with  chubby  cheeks,  and  curly  blond  hair,  like  a  cherub 
of  Raphael,  in  the  arms  of  a  nurse  or  being  held  by  the 
hand  of  a  maid,  I  would  kiss  him  with  transport,  not 
caring  for  the  disagreeable  looks  that  those  women  would 
cast  at  me.  You  will  see  from  this  what  an  adoration  I 
have  for  children,  and  you  will  easily  understand  that 
I  could  not  even  in  fiction  pretend  to  slay  children  upon 
the  stage.  You  know  that  in  Italy  we  also  have  a 
'Medea,'  which  is  very  much  liked  by  the  public,  and 
which  pays  good  returns  to  the  various  theatrical  man- 
agers who  produce  it;  but  as  for  myself,  no  matter  how 
great  may  be  the  actress  who  plays  it,  I  never  go  to  see 
that  drama." 


From  ail  en;,'r..ving  by 


by  H.  B.  Hall,  Jr  ,  New  York 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI  IN  1876 


MEDEA  177 

*'  But  my  Medea  kills  her  children  in  such  a  way 
that  while  the  audience  understands  that  it  is  a  mother  who 
commits  the  nefarious  crime  they  do  not  actually  see  how 
she  accomplishes  the  deed." 

"  Please  pardon  me,  Mr.  Legouvé,  but  I  can  never  be 
persuaded  that  the  horror  that  any  actress  must  inspire 
at  that  point  does  not  predispose  the  audience  against 
her." 

"  Would  you  at  least  do  me  the  favour  of  reading  my 
'  Medea,'  and  satisfying  yourself  of  the  truth  of  my 
assertions?" 

"If  you  will  let  it  rest  there,  for  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
discourteous  to  you  who  are  so  kind  to  me  ;  but  I  do  warn 
you  now — so  that  you  won't  feel  hurt  later — ^that  it  can- 
not be  possible  that  your  'Medea'  will  ever  enter  my 
repertoire." 

As  if  nothing  had  been  said,  Mr.  Legouvé  was  about 
to  take  leave  of  me  with  these  words  : 

"  Yes,  yes,  read  it  and  we  shall  speak  about  it  later  on." 

But  I  held  him  back,  adding  : 

"There  is  yet  another  reason  which  prevents  me  from 
performing  your  '  Medea.'  I  don't  wish  at  any  cost  to 
let  anybody  suppose  that  I  wish  to  take  advantage  of 
your  temporary  dissension  with  Rachel,  in  order  to  sup- 
plant her  in  a  role  written  for  her.  Therefore,  I  could 
never  consent  to  play  your  '  Medea,'  unless  you  first 
engaged  yourself  to  express  and  to  announce  publicly 
your  desire  that  I  do  so." 

"  Since  Rachel  has  refused  it,  what  scruple  can  prevent 
you  from  accepting  the  role?" — he  said  to  me. 

But  he  understood  the  wisdom  of  my  objections  and 
promised  to  make  the  declaration  I  required,  if  I  should 
accept  the  part. 

The  following  day,  for  the  sake  of  obliging  him,  I  took 
advantage  of  an  hour  of  freedom,  while  my  maid  was 
dressing  my  hair,  and  resolved  to  read  "Medea,"  yet 
with  a  full  conviction  of  wasting  my  time,  as  it  seemed 
to  me  logically  to  be  impossible  that  its  author  could 
conceal  the  portrayal  of  the  unavoidable  catastrophe. 
In  this  not  very  favourable  frame  of  mind,  I  undertook 
to  pass  a  judgment  upon  that  work. 


178         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

With  a  surprise  more  easily  imagined  than  described, 
the  reading  of  the  play  began  from  the  start  to  inspire 
in  me  so  much  interest  that,  while  proceeding  with  it, 
I  would  give  vent  to  such  exclamations  and  make  such 
gesticulations  that  my  poor  maid,  dreadfully  astonished, 
cried  out  to  me  : 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  lady,  I  can  no  longer  dress 
your  hair?" 

"  Go  on,  proceed  .  .  .  it  is  nothing  .  .  .  don't 
mind  me." 

At  the  end  of  the  first  act  I  found  Legouvé's  superior 
to  all  the  other  versions  of  "  Medea  " — I  exclaimed  :  "  Oh, 
how  beautiful  it  is  !  What  magnificent  situations  .  .  . 
how  did  Rachel  ever  renounce  such  a  splendid  part  as 
this  one?     .     .     .     — I  could  not  believe  it." 

After  the  second  act,  my  enthusiasm  grew  and  with 
the  greatest  eagerness  I  read  on  to  see  how  the  author 
produced  the  climax  of  the  final  scene.  I  was  anxious 
to  see  what  means  he  had  chosen  to  have  the  mother  kill 
the  children  without  exciting  the  horror  of  the  audience. 

I  cannot  find  words  to  express  my  admiration  after 
reading  the  complete  tragedy.  Legouvé  had  discovered 
a  way  to  make  the  killing  of  the  children  appear  both 
justifiable  and  necessary,  as  the  reader  will  discover  for 
himself  at  the  end  of  this  study. 

Possessed  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  I  allowed  the 
book  to  slip  out  of  my  hands,  and  was  not  only  willing 
but  anxious  to  undertake  the  study  of  the  part. 

When  I  again  saw  Legouvé,  I  nearly  fell  on  his  neck, 
exclaiming  : 

"Yes,  yes,  I  shall  play  your  'Medea'  and  we  shall 
arrange  together  for  a  feigned  scene  regarding  the  killing 
of  the  children  which  will  cause  the  audience  to  be  car- 
ried away  with  enthusiasm." 

Without  losing  any  time  I  looked  for  somebody  to 
.translate  the  drama  into  Italian. 

Fortunately  there  was  in  Paris  at  that  time,  in  the 
Italian  colony,  many  of  the  most  renowned  literary 
geniuses  of  Italy,  who  had  been  exiled  from  home  for 
political  reasons.  Among  these  was  Signor  Montanelli, 
who  seemed  to  me  the  best  suited  of  all  to  translate  into 


.Cjpj right.  1906.  1  y  Tryphrsa  Bates  Batcheller 
From  Mrs.  B.tcheller 's  ••  Glimpses  of  Italian  Court  Lire  ' 

ADELAIDE  RISTORI   AT   THE   AGE   OF   80 


MEDEA  179 

good  Italian  verse  the  beautiful  work  of  Legouvé,  and  it 
was  with  much  pleasure  that  Montanelli  accepted  the 
difficult  task.  Our  heroic  patriot,  Daniel  Manin,  and 
many  others  approved  of  the  choice.  It  was  arranged 
that  in  the  following  year  the  work  should  be  finished. 

On  my  return  to  Paris  in  the  spring  of  1856,  we  did 
nothing  during  eleven  days  but  rehearse  with  much 
ardour  and  nervous  activity,  in  order  to  hasten  the  pro- 
duction of  the  tragedy.  A  great  deal  had  in  the  mean- 
time been  said  about  it. 

I  saw  nothing  else,  I  dreamed  of  nothing  else  but 
"Medea."  The  selection  of  my  costumes  caused  me  a 
good  deal  of  thought  and  the  many  researches  I  had  made 
had  not  yet  placed  me  in  the  way  of  finding  what  I 
wanted.  The  renowned  painter,  Ary  Schefler,  came 
to  my  assistance.  He  drew  a  sketch,  in  minutest  detail, 
of  a  costume  which  proved  to  be  most  marvellous.  He 
was  only  embarrassed  in  choosing  the  style  of  the  cloak, 
which  needed  to  be  so  ample  for  my  first  entrance  upon 
the  stage  but  which  would  later  be  cumbersome  to  me 
in  the  various  attitudes  of  my  acting.  With  a  simple 
and  natural  movement  I  had  to  allow  the  wide  folds  to 
fall  artistically  from  my  shoulders. 

The  day  set  for  the  first  performance  was  the  8th  of 
April,  and  I,  whose  natural  instinct  never  permitted  me 
to  postpone  an  appointed  date,  saw  that  everything  was 
ready  on  that  day. 

At  that  time  any  new  theatrical  venture  greatly 
excited  the  mind  and  the  curiosity  of  the  people.  Both 
the  Italian  and  French  elements  were  in  great  suspense 
concerning  this  production  of  "Medea."  The  Parisians 
were  curious  to  judge  whether  Rachel  had  really  been 
wrong  in  refusing  that  role  after  she  had  accepted, 
studied,  and  rehearsed  it  with  artistic  interest,  and 
even  congratulated  its  author  on  the  creation  of  the 
character. 

The  Italians,  on  their  side,  were  investing  this  ex- 
periment of  mine  with  almost  a  national  importance; 
consequently  the  excitement  was  very  great.  Those 
among  the  French  people  who  sympathised  with  us  were 
the  intimate  friends  of  the  most  noted  Italian  exiles. 


i8o         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Among  the  latter  I  will  mention  those  most  dear  friends 
of  mine,  the  two  brothers  Messrs.  Planat  de  la  Faye. 

Before  the  beginning  of  the  performance  many  people 
came  to  my  dressing-room  to  offer  me  their  best  wishes, 
and  Ary  Schefi'er  wished  to  see  the  effect  that  my 
costimie  would  produce,  and  if  it  had  been  reproduced 
exactly  as  he  had  designed  it. 

Vantadour  Hall  was  crowded  with  a  most  select  class 
of  people.  Mme.  Devallière,  the  daughter  of  the  play- 
Avright  Legouvé,  was  in  a  state  of  convulsive  excitement, 
owing  to  her  intense  emotion.  Legouvé  himself,  well 
understanding  that  he  was  playing  one  of  his  best  trumps, 
in  consequence  of  the  uproar  provoked  the  year  before 
by  the  incident  with  Rachel — was  doing  his  best  to  dis- 
semble his  anxiety. 

As  for  myself,  though  I  appeared  to  be  at  ease,  I  felt 
a  certain  sensation  .  .  .  my  hands  were  freezing 
cold.  I  rubbed  them  together,  saying  to  those  who  were 
near  me  : 

"  It  seems  as  if  cold  air  comes  from  the  ceiling  .  .  . 
I  am  cold     ...     I  am  shivering." 

The  curtain  rises.  A  flattering  murmur  announces  the 
sympathetic  attention  of  the  public. 

The  beautiful  speech  of  Orpheus  (Signor  Boccomini) 
was  followed  by  prolonged  applause.  Oh,  how  much 
courage  the  benevolent  demonstrations  of  an  audience 
inspire  in  the  artists  who  must  yet  present  themselves  ! 

At  last,  the  moment  of  my  appearance  arrives,  and 
I  am  already  waiting  upon  the  platform  of  the  scaffold 
-which  represents  the  lower  part  of  the  mountain,  from 
-which  I  pretend  to  ascend  with  difficulty.  I  carry  in 
my  arms  the  little  Melyant,  who  rests  his  blond  head 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  that  part  of  the  blue  cloak  which 
had,  later  on,  to  fall  on  my  back  (the  cloak  which  had 
caused  so  much  apprehension  to  Ary  Scheffer),  covers 
half  my  head,  and  almost  totally  hides  that  of  the  child. 
I  had  placed  the  other  child,  Licaon,  at  my  left  side, 
where  he  stayed  in  a  posture  of  excessive  weariness. 
The  melody  of  the  Canephores  who  accompany  Creusa 
to  the  temple,  precedes  my  coming. 

At  my  appearance  the  audience  bursts  forth  into  loud 


RACHEL,  ELIZA  RACHEL   FELLX  IN   1854 

The  great  French  tragedienne  of  the  XIX  century.     (1S21-1S58) 


MEDEA  i8i 

and  prolonged  applause,  which  does  not  cease  until  I 
begin  my  lines. 

Having  reached  the  top  of  the  mountain  I  stop  sud- 
denly, as  if  exhausted.  This  attitude,  with  many  others, 
I  had  adopted  from  my  study  of  the  stupendous  groups 
of  Niobe  which  are  in  the  famous  Uffizi  Gallery  of 
Florence. 

When  I  begin  to  speak,  my  lamenting  accent  demon- 
strates that  the  prostration  of  my  body  is  caused  not 
alone  by  the  suffering  and  privations  I  have  experienced 
during  my  long  trip  through  cliffs  and  valleys,  but  also 
by  the  discouragement  which  has  overtaken  me  at  the 
sight  of  my  exhausted  children,  to  whom  I  can  offer  only 
my  blood  as  food.  This  state  of  mind  is  described  by 
Legouvé  in  a  most  moving  manner  and  accompanied  with 
fine  scenic  effects. 

The  little  sick  child,  almost  entirely  exhausted,  while 
sitting  with  his  brother  upon  the  steps  of  the  statue  of 
Diana   says,  in  a  lamenting  tone  : 

Melyant  :  I  am  so  tired,  mother! 

Medea  :  My  child,  I  suffer  with  thee,  nor  can  I  give  thee 

shelter  or  a  home . 
Licaon  :  I  am  faint  with  hunger,  mother! 

Hearing  such  heartrending  words,  in  an  attitude  of 
despair  as  if  asking  myself:  "How  can  I  feed  them?" 
I  exclaim: 

"Oh!  could  i  drain  my  heart  for  them  and  say: 
'Here,  drink,'  I'd  let  the  crimson  flood  from  my  veins, 
Though  life  did  ooze  with  every  drop." 

This  despairing  tone  lasts  through  the  greater  part  of 
the  act.  Only  when  the  wound  of  my  heart  reopens  at 
the  remembrance  of  my  lost  love,  the  state  of  prostration 
ceases  and  like  a  plant  which,  revived  by  a  refreshing 
dew  recovers  its  vigour,  I  regain  my  strength.  Thus, 
through  the  magnificent  scene  with  Creusa,  in  which  I  am 
made  to  believe  that  while  I  am  stricken  with  pain  and 
suffering,  roaming  in  search  of  my  lost  happiness,  he 
could  live  happily  in  the  arms  of  one  of  my  rivals — my 
aspect  is  transformed,  my  limbs  writhe,  my  eyes  dart  fire, 
my  mouth  appears  as  if  pouring  venom — and  with  the 


1 82         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

appearance  of  a  fury  at  the  question  that  Creusa  would 
address  to  me: 

"What  would  you  do?" 

I  answer,  looking  at  her  with  haggard   eye,  taking  her 
by  the  hand,  and  making  her  advance  to  the  footlights  : 

"Do?     What  does  the  leopard  when 
With  a  terrible  and  bloody  joy  it  bounds,  like  a  thunderbolt, 
Upon  its  prey?" 

I  pronounce  these  last  verses  with  the  expression  of  a 
wild  beast  that  is  about  to  devour  somebody,  and  making 
the  gesture  of  tearing  my  victim  to  pieces.  I  remain 
with  such  an  expression  and  pose  as  to  inspire  fright  and 
horror. 

This  attitude  of  ferocity  seemed  to  me  logical,  not  only 
owing  to  the  nature  of  Medea,  but  to  that  of  any  woman 
possessing  a  strong  temperament  and  capable  of  excesses 
either  of  love  or  of  hate.  And  such  a  conviction  caused 
me  to  form  for  myself  a  right  criterion,  and  to  serve  as  a 
rule  through  the  frequent  transitions  of  my  part.  It  was 
only  after  profound  study  that  I  succeeded  in  inter- 
preting these  two  passions  as  the  author  wished,  and 
without  detaching  myself  from  the  truth. 

At  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Orpheus,  the  scenic 
motion  changes.  At  the  confirmation  he  gives  me  that 
Jason  is  still  alive,  a  convulsive  joy  brightens  my  face. 
But  when  I  discover  that  Creusa  is  my  rival,  and  hear 
her  boldly  challenge  my  wrath  by  saying: 

"Cease,  respect  the  hero  who  swore  his  faith  to  me!" 

I  reply,  with  a  ferocious  look  : 

'  '  Thou  lo  vest  him  ?" 

"Yes,    I  love  him,   and  he'll  be  mine  to-morrow 
At  the  temple's  rite." 

Starting  like  a  wild  beast  who  knows  that  her  prey 
cannot  escape  her,  with  a  sneering  accent  I  say  : 

"He  thy  husband,  beware!     .     .     .     .     " 

At  that  moment  I  stretch  out  my  right  hand  toward 
her,  as  if  in  warning,  and  remain  in  that  posture  until  the 
curtain  drops. 


MEDEA  183 

Even  now  I  remember  with  joy  that  that  first  act  pro- 
duced the  greatest  enthusiasm  and  that  I  was  called  out 
several  times,  and  greeted  with  the  most  frantic  applause. 
The  so-called  "foyer  of  the  artists"  was  jammed  with 
people.  My  admirers  overwhelmed  me  with  compliments  ; 
my  friends  squeezed  my  hand  with  that  cordiality  which 
no  words  can  describe  but  which  means  a  poem  of  affec- 
tion. Others  crowded  around  me,  their  deep  emotion 
making  them  silent  rather  than  eloquent.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  the  author  of  the  play  was  there  sharing  with 
me  the  enthusiasm  of  the  occasion. 

They  were  all  expressing  their  wonder  at  the  exact 
execution,  so  well  rendered  and  so  well  interpreted  after 
a  comparatively  short  number  of  rehearsals. 

In  Italy  such  a  tribute  would  not  surprise  anybody 
at  all  as,  owing  to  the  less  flourishing  theatrical  con- 
ditions that  exist  there  compared  with  those  of  other 
countries,  the  obligation  of  preparing  new  productions 
within  short  notice  is  more  imperious,  while  in  France 
such  preparations  last  at  times  for  several  months! 

The  second  act  is  filled  with  situations  of  marvellous 
scenic  effect  thus  offering  to  the  actress  a  large  field  for 
the  display  of  her  dramatic  ability. 

The  scene  between  Medea  and  Jason  is  one  of  the  best. 
When  Jason  hypocritically  reproaches  himself  for  having 
involuntarily  subjected  his  children  to  a  life  of  hardship 
and  of  privations,  and  is  not  able  to  bear  the  thought 
that  they  are  again  exposed  to  shame  and  abuse,  he  says 
that  it  is  in  his  power  to  relieve  them  from  so  much  shame, 
provided  their  mother  be  sacrificed  for  their  salvation. 
I  imperiously  ask:  "In  what  way?" 

Jason:  "Break  the  chains  which  bind  them  to  adversity." 

At  such  a  suggestion,  I  become  terrified.  Yet,  while 
endeavouring  to  restrain  myself,  I  add,  with  ill-concealed 
irony: 

"Ah,  repudiate  myself?" 

My  eyes  glare  with  a  murderous  expression  caused  by 
the  tempest  which  is  raging  within  me. 


i84         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

I  cannot  here  even  briefly  enumerate  the  thousand 
rapid  alterations  which  are  expressed  in  the  verses,  which 
precede  my  caustic  answer  : 

"I  see  it,  see  it  all." 

Giving  vent  to  my  hatred  and  to  the  desire  for  revenge, 
which,  according  to  the  unconquerable  temper  of  Medea, 
should  govern  every  one  of  my  words  with  the  procedure 
of  the  scene,  I  pour  out  the  wrath  which  I  had  with 
difficulty  held  back.  My  weakness,  my  love;  all  dis- 
appear, while  the  just  resentment  of  a  despised,  humili- 
ated and  derided  woman — outraged  in  all  her  most  dear 
and  vehement  passions — is  expressed  by  me  with  all  the 
ferocity  of  a  Tartar  nature: 


"Some  sweet  power  compels  thee  to  appease 
The  gods  by  my  consent  to  break  the  union 
Ah,  why  dost  thou  change  thy  colour,  Jason? 
Thou  art  pale,  I'm  sorry — but  I  cannot  set  thee  free." 


After  having  absolutely  refused  to  consent  to  the 
severing  of  our  union,  I  feel  assured  by  Jason's  bitter  and 
insulting  words  that  he  not  only  has  dared  to  meet  my 
wTath,  but  that  he  has  now  lost  every  sentiment  of  love 
for  me.  In  spite  of  myself,  I  am  crushed  by  the  blow. 
But  I  express  the  paroxysm  of  my  grief  when  Jason, 
wearied  with  my  reproaches,  and  not  caring  for  my 
refusal,  is  making  sure  that  on  the  following  day  I  shall 
be  sent  into  exile,  that  Creusa  will  become  his  wife,  and 
that  the  breezes  which  carry  my  ship  away  will  bring  to 
me  the  echoes  of  their  nuptial  carols.  Those  threats  leave 
me  at  first  like  one  petrified;  then  the  most  ferocious 
hatred  takes  the  place  of  love,  and  the  following  words 
pour  out  of  my  mouth  like  a  stream  of  fiery  lava  : 


'  '  Blood  !  blood  !  To  drown  him  in  it  ! 
To  break,  to  torture  his  human  heart! 


Like  a  wild  beast  entrapped  in  a  cage,  I  rove  around 


MEDEA  185 

the  scene,  as  if  I  am  trying  to  find  a  terrible  way  of 
avenging  myself;  while  the  voices  of  my  children  who 
run  after  me,  uttering  the  sweet  name  of  "mother,"  are 
powerless  to  calm  my  fury,  even  when  they  say  to  me  : 

Licaon:  "We  are  your  children,  mother!" 

I  answer,  vehemently  : 

"You  are  Jason's  children.     Away!" 

Licaon:  "What  have  we  done?" 

Medea     ":  .     .     No,  no " 

"Accursed  things — I  hate  you,  go! 
I  hate  the  human  race — but  you  the  most 

Because  he  is  your  father! " 


On  beholding  the  sad  faces  of  those  two  poor  children, 
I  exclaim: 

"Oh,  Jason,  Jason,  must  I  know  thee  false. 
And  love  thee  still,  or  loathing  thee. 
Must  I  destroy  those  little  ones?     .     .     .     ." 


Another  affection  awakens  in  me  to  dominate  my 
nature,  and  I  repeat  the  touching  words  : 

"The  children!     .     .     .     Mine!  Mine!" 

Stretching  out  my  maternal  arms,  I  invite  them  to 
run  to  me,  which  they  do  in  a  transport  of  joy. 

Falling  heavily  upon  a  stool,  I  take  the  smaller  of  the 
two  children  upon  my  knee,  pressing  the  other  affection- 
ately to  my  bosom,  thus  forming  a  group  which  pro- 
duced a  great  effect  upon  the  audience. 

As  soon  as  my  excess  of  motherly  tenderness  subsides 
I  utter,  in  a  tone  of  pity  : 

"Pardon,  my  children.     Forgive  thy  mother. 
You  are  all  she  hath,  yet  is  so  rich  in  such  possession 
That  were  the  gods  all  Jasons,  and  she 
Their  only  love,  she  would  not  barter 
This  one  sad,  fond  caress, 
To  dwell  forever  in  their  hearts, 
Or  be  partaker  of  immortal  joy! 


What  are  you  to  Jason?     The  forsaken 
Children  of  Medea!  ; " 


i86         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Pronouncing  that  name  all  the  fury  of  my  jealousy 
would  rise  in  me  again.  My  children  frightened  by  that 
sudden  change,  run  from  my  arms. 

Left  alone  to  meditate  upon  the  most  atrocious  means 
of  revenge,  I  grasp  the  quickest  and  most  decisive — I 
will  slay  my  rival! 

"It  is  but  true,  the  poisoned  heart  arms  the  hand!" 

At  the  sight  of  the  poignard  which  I  take  from  under 
my  peblum,  with  a  ferocious  rage  I  say  : 

"Oh,  joy!     .     .     .     .     " 

adding,  with  a  threatening  voice: 

"In  the  thick  of  night,  to  gHde  like  a  ghost, 
To  advance  like  a  shadow 

And  behold  the  corpse  of  Creusa, 
Prostrated  at  the  feet  of  Medea!  " 

With  this  last  verse,  I  rise  up  straight,  my  body  like 
that  of  a  giant  holding  the  poignard  in  my  uplifted  hand, 
as  if  at  the  sight  of  it  one  should  feel  paralysed.  When 
Creusa  comes,  I  am  so  filled  with  the  thought  of  executing 
vengeance  at  once  that  my  face  assumes  a  joyful  expres- 
sion, but  I  quickly  hide  myself  behind  a  column,  ready 
to  fall  upon  her  at  a  propitious  moment. 

In  rushing  toward  my  rival,  I  meet  her  face  to  face. 
Creusa  advances  to  me,  with  the  intention  of  dissuading 
me  from  my  purpose  and  says: 

"  The  furious  mob  follows  thee; 
If  within  the  palace  it  enters,  thou  art  lost! 
I  run!  " 

Medea  :  '  '  Where  to  ?  " 
Creusa:  "To  save  thee!" 

With  such  an  answer  she  disarms  my  disdain,  and 


MEDEA.  187 

being  brought  back  to  the  instinct  of  my  royal  blood, 
I  repeat,  bewildered: 

"  Thou  darest  to  save  me!     ....    save  me!     .     .     ." 

Noticing  the  poignard  I  am  holding,  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself,  and  conceal  it  with  a  sense  of  horror. 

Then,  a  short  scene  takes  place — I  beg  her,  in  accents 
full  of  pain,  to  leave  that  man  to  me,  as  he  is  all  on  earth 
to  me,  but  with  the  decisive  refusals  of  Creusa,  my  hatred 
grows  again  and  more  powerful  than  before,  and  I  am 
about  to  throw  myself  upon  her,  when  we  hear  the  cries 
of  the  daughter  of  Creonte,  who  runs  to  us  frightened, 
followed  by  the  people. 

In  the  last  scene,  having  taken  possession  of  my  children 
I  hold  them  pressed  to  my  bosom,  so  that  they  may  not 
be  snatched  away  from  me  by  the  mob,  which  in  a 
furious  way  is  threatening  to  stone  me,  when  suddenly 
Orpheus  appears  and  says,  imperiously  : 

"He  who  does  not  love  his  children, 
Let  him  snatch  those  innocent  infants 
From  their  mother!" 

At  his  presence  and  hearing  those  words,  the  mob 
reverently  draws  back,  while  Creonte,  Jason  and  Creusa 
stand  as  if  overpowered  by  the  fascination  of  the  divine 
poet.  Feeling  comforted  by  the  words  of  Orpheus, 
who  points  me  to  a  safe  retreat,  I  cover  my  children  with 
my  cloak  and  walk  out,  murmuring  in  a  soft  voice  : 

"At  last  I  hold  my  vengeance!     .     .     .     .     " 

It  is  needless  to  mention  the  good  effect  produced  upon 
the  audience  by  all  these  dramatic  situations. 


The  stage  setting  of  the  third  act  had  been  prepared 
in  a  truly  artistic  manner.  On  the  left  of  the  spectators 
stood  a  wide  tent  of  Grecian  style,  showing  the  entrance 
of  a  room  to  which  one  ascended  by  mounting  a  few 
steps. 


1 88         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

When  the  curtain  rises,  Jason  is  impatiently  listening 
to  the  admonitions  of  Orpheus,  Creusa  comes  in,  holding 
by  the  hands  the  children  of  her  betrothed,  happy  in 
their  caresses.  A  domestic  group,  a  scene  of  affection 
and  of  tender  sentiment  for  the  children,  whom  Creusa 
is  ambitious  to  adopt  as  her  own.  Nursing  happy  thoughts 
Jason  moves  away,  followed  by  his  dear  ones  and  behind 
them  comes  Orpheus  with  a  sad  expression  on  his  face. 
At  that  moment  I  peep  in  from  the  threshold  of  my  room, 
set  one  foot  upon  the  step  and  by  raising  with  my  right 
hand  the  tent,  I  remain  in  the  dim  light,  coldly  observing 
this  new  proof  of  Jason's  treachery. 

In  a  short  monologue,  I  indulge  fervently  in  my  re- 
vengeful reflections  ;  I  am  only  awaiting  the  coming  of 
night  in  order  to  flee,  unobserved,  with  my  children, 
while  in  the  royal  palace  they  dance  at  the  happy  nuptials 
of  Creusa! 

These  last  verses  I  pronounce  with  the  sarcasm  of  one 
who  is  anticipating  a  different  ending  to  that  festive 
event. 

Orpheus  comes  back,  bearing  an  order  of  Creonte, 
in  which  it  is  said,  that  according  to  the  answers  given 
by  the  oracle  to  the  king,  the  presence  of  Medea  had 
been  predicted  as  a  fatal  omen,  and  therefore  I  am  com- 
manded to  leave  at  once,  but  without  my  children. 
Such  an  announcement  pierces  like  an  arrow  the  heart 
of  Medea,  who  loves  her  children  more  than  she  hates 
Creusa.  She  begs  of  Orpheus  to  intercede  with  the  king, 
that  the  children  may  be  left  to  her.  In  the  following 
scene  everything  should  contrive  to  make  apparent  the 
human  nature  of  that  poor  woman,  placed  in  such  a  try- 
ing position.  One  can  easily  understand  at  this  point 
how  difficult  it  was  to  reproduce  true  to  life  such  a  char- 
acter, in  which  the  continuous  contrast  between  the  affec- 
tion and  hatred  which  agitate  her  must  be  marked. 

Noticing  that  all  my  prayers  for  obtaining  from  the 
immovable  Jason  permission  to  take  both  my  children 
with  me  are  useless,  and  on  hearing  that  one  of  them 
alone  can  follow  me,  I  address,  with  the  most  touching 
expression,  both  to  Creusa  and  King  Jason  my  most 
fervent  request.     The  verdict  is  unchangeable!     Then, 


MEDEA  189 

seeing  myself  abandoned  even  by  my  children,  who  had 
rushed  away  and  clung  to  Creusa's  skirt,  I  turn  deaf  to 
every  word  of  comfort  that  they  are  trying  to  address  to 
me.  I  ask  to  be  left  alone  the  prey  of  my  grief.  Ob- 
serving then  that  my  children  also  have  disappeared, 
with  a  heart-breaking  outburst  I  cry  : 

"  My  children!    .     .     .     My  children!     .     .     ." 

and  fall  down  upon  the  steps  of  the  altar  of  Saturn,  as  if 
unconscious.  After  a  short  pause,  I  begin  the 
following  monologue  : 

"Alone!  Alone!  upon  this  world!  No  longer  a  father! 
No  longer  a  husband!  No  more  children!  Nothing! 
And  thou  darest  to  cry?     .     .     .     ." 

Shame  takes  the  place  of  desolation,  and  I  blush  while 
looking  at  my  hands  wet  with  tears,  and  exclaim: 

"Thou  darest  to  cry!     And  Jason  triumphs! 
Yes,  in  spite  of  me,  all  his  wish  is  fulfilled! 
My  very  hand  unites  him  to  his  mistress!  " 

Then,  going  over  all  the  wrongs  I  had  suffered,  and 
bewailing  that  I  myself  had  unconsciously  favoured  and 
procured  for  Jason  the  accomplishment  of  his  happiness, 
rage  would  again  possess  me,  and  while  I  say:  "  my 
very  hand  unites  him  to  his  mistress!"  I  rise  and  shake 
my  hand  resolutely  as  though  to  drive  away  from  my 
mind  the  thought  of  shame.  Picturing  to  myself  the 
joy  of  their  love  and  happiness,  I  roar  like  a  wounded 
lioness  : 

"Oh,  god  of  hell!  Help!  help!  Blood  I  want! 
A   weapon!     .     .     ." 

At  that  point  I  wish  the  extermination  of  all. 

At  the  tender  recollection  of  my  children,  my  fury 
would  somewhat  decrease.  I  shiver  at  the  thought  of 
killing  them  with  my  own  hand  .  .  .  but  on  reflecting 
that  with  that  blow  I  could  bring  an  eternal  grief 
upon  Jason,  I  strangle  my  natural  cry  by  infusing  the 


I90         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

following  lines  with  all  the  rage  of  one  who  no  longer  fears 
anything  : 

"In  Jason  an  everlasting  woe  to  kindle, 
That  my  crime  be  the  instrument  of  his 
Eternal  torture.      My  punishment  to  hurl  him 
To  the  infernal  regions  !  '  ' 

And  suddenly  turning  myself  to  the  statue  of  Saturn: 

"Thou,  above  all,  who  invok'st 
The  slajdng  of  children,  O  Saturn 
Hear  me!     .     .     .     Thy  squalid  altar  bright 
With  innocent  cherubs'  blood  dost  shine, 
The  horrid  offering  shal't  have  from  me!" 

At  that  moment  my  children  are  led  in  by  the  nurse 
of  Creusa.  At  the  sight  of  them  I  stand  as  if  petrified  by 
the  uttered  vow.  I  order  that  they  be  taken  away  from 
me,  as  if  I  feared  to  see  myself  forced  to  immolate  them 
to  the  implacable  god.  On  hearing  that  Jason  is  awaiting 
them  to  join  him  at  the  altar,  as  if  to  have  them  witness 
my  infamy,  all  pity  disappears,  and  becoming  again  a 
prey  of  my  fury  I  resolutely  command  them  to  approach 
me. 

I  had  arranged  that  after  the  lines  : 

"Thy  word  was  true      .     .     .     time  flies. 
The  moment  is  at  hand     .     .     .     let  them  approach, 
And  be  my  pity  deaf.     Father  and  sons, 
A  single  blow  shall  strike     .     .     ." 

Melyant  and  Licaon  throw  themselves  upon  my  knees, 
grasping  me  with  their  tender  hands  while  they  look  at 
me  with  beseeching  eyes.  Moved  by  that  look,  I  would 
drop  the  arm  which  I  had  already  lifted  to  strike  .  .  . 
my  voice  becomes  tender,  my  hands  falling  down  meet 
those  of  the  children.  At  the  contact  with  them  a  sense 
of  sweetness  transfuses  my  mind,  and  all  idea  of  vengeance 
vanishes.     With  much  emotion,  in  a  loving  voice  I  say: 

"Their  hands!     .     .     .     their  soft  hands!  ...     I  press! 

I  stagger     .     .     .     my  heart  is  faint     .     .  .     my  lips 

In  tender  affection  inclined  to  theirs     .     .  . 
Ah,  ere  I  strike  the  blow     ,     .     ." 

and  bending  down,  I  am  about  to  kiss  them;  but  my 


MEDEA  191 

vow  to  Saturn  remembering,  I  turn  to  the  statue  as  if 
to  implore  that  he  should  grant  me  that  moment  of  joy 
before  I  strike  the  fatal  blow. 

Again  contemplating  my  children,  I  show  the  reawak- 
ening within  me  of  the  maternal  sentiment  and  bursting 
into  tears  I  cry  : 

"No,  I  am  faint  to  such  a  deed! 
Away  from  me  all  my  murderous  thoughts! 
I  have  my  children  once  more!  " 

Saying  that,  I  fall  between  the  two,  cover  them  with 
kisses  and  press  them  to  my  bosom. 

At  that  point  Orpheus  hurriedly  rushes  to  me,  urging 
me  to  run  away  with  the  children  .  .  .  when  suddenly 
distant  and  confused  cries  arrest  our  steps.  A  girl  with 
dishevelled  hair  runs  to  us  crying,  and  announces  that 
Creusa  is  dying  on  account  of  a  poisoned  veil.  Over- 
taken with  desolation  I  cry  : 

"  Yes,   the  veil  I  bade  her  take!  " 

Orpheus  furiously  cries 

"  Accursed  woman!     Forsake  thy  children!     .    .     ." 

I  answer: 

"  Never." 

At  this  point  I  snatch  my  little  Melyant — I  raise  him — 
I  press  him  under  my  arm,  while  with  the  other  arm  I 
drag  Licaon  and  make  an  attempt  to  run.  Some  of  the 
threatening  mob  force  me  to  go  back.  I  try  in  vain  to 
open  for  myself  a  passage  at  the  other  end,  but  the  cries 
which  come  from  the  palace,  "To  death!  to  death!" 
force  me  to  look  for  another  way  of  escape.  At  that 
point,  the  mob  rushes  in  like  a  torrent  from  every  side 
and  tries  to  take  the  children  from  me  at  the  absolute 
order  of  the  king,  who  cries  : 

"  Let  them  be  taken    .     .    .    murder!  " 

Then,  in  a  desperate  tone  I  exclaim: 

"  Never!     Never  shall  you  have  them!  " 


192         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

and  with  a  spring  I  rush  upon  the  altar  of  Saturn,  drag- 
ging both  my  children  with  me.  The  people  of  Corinth 
rush  upon  me,  surround  me  from  every  side,  when  a  cry 
of  horror  bursts  forth  from  them,  which  announces  that 
the  nefarious  sacrifice  has  been  accomplished.  The 
people  draw  back  at  such  a  sight  and  allow  Medea  to 
be  seen,  her  eyes  haggard,  fixed,  her  body  drawn  and 
contracted  like  a  statue  of  remorse,  her  two  slain  children 
at  her  feet. 

After  a  short  pause  of  general  terror,  the  voice  of 
Jason,  who  is  rushing  ahead  is  heard  crying: 

Jason.         "  Let  myself  strike  this  impious  woman!  " 
Orpheus.     "  Approach  thee  not!  " 
Jason.         "  The  children!  "     .     .     . 
".     .     .     Slain!  " 

cries  Creonte. 

Entering  on  the  scene,  Jason  in  despair  cries: 

"Slain!      .     .     .     By  whom?"      .     .     . 
"By  thee!  " 

Imperiously  and  fiercely  replies  Medea,  rising,  with 
her  arm  outstretched  toward  Jason,  like  a  picture  of 
inexorable  destiny. 

The  curtain  drops. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  study  I  mentioned  the  fact 
that  I  felt  an  instinctive  repugnance  to  representing  a 
character  which  led  me  to  a  final  scene  so  revolting,  one 
that  rebelled  against  the  most  sacred  sentiments  of 
nature.  The  reader  knows  also  why  I  finally  changed 
my  resolve  not  to  impersonate  such  a  role;  and  how, 
when  at  last  I  was  induced  to  do  so,  the  most  vivid 
passion  for  the  character  I  had  been  asked  to  portray 
had  taken  hold  of  me. 

I  applied  myself  with  much  enthusiasm  to  the  study 
of  "Medea."  To  use  an  expression  common  among  the 
French,  this  tragedy  was  "  mon  cheval  dehataille."  I 
studied  thoroughly  the  contrast  between  the  two  pas- 
sions, which  are  as  a  rule  not  very  common,  but  which  are 
not,  nevertheless,  extraordinary  ones:  jealousy  and 
hatred — from    one   or   the   other   must    necessarily   be 


MEDEA  193 

derived  the  thirst  for  revenge.  It  was  a  typical 
psychological  study  which  found  its  origin  and  its 
explanation  in  the  tendencies  of  the  human  mind. 

I  endeavoured  to  express  the  character  of  Medea 
in  the  best  possible  manner,  carrying  myself  back  to 
antiquity  in  order  to  incarnate  the  irnpressions  of  those 
times,  and  I  am  justified  in  saying  that  I  understood  it 
as  well  as  I  should,  or  could. 


CHAPTER  V 

MYRRHA — A   TRAGEDY   BY   VITTORIO    ALFIERI 

Anyone  who  is  familiar  with  ItaHan  dramatic  liter- 
ature will  easily  understand  that  among  the  many 
tragedies  written  by  the  immortal  Vittorio  Alfieri, 
"  Myrrha  "  is  the  most  difficult  and  extraordinary. 

In  fact  the  task  of  dramatising  a  situation  in  which  a 
girl  is  irresistibly  in  love  with  her  own  father  and  assailed, 
from  time  to  time,  with  transports  of  furious  jealousy 
against  her  own  mother,  is  unquestionably  an  extremely 
arduous  one. 

But  it  should  not  be  considered  unworthy  or  incom- 
patible with  the  moral  sense  of  the  public  when  we  realise 
that  such  a  passion  is  conceived  of  only  as  the  result  of 
fate.  Alfieri  says  that  Cecris,  the  mother  of  Myrrha, 
having  boasted  that  the  beauty  of  her  daughter  should  be 
greater  than  that  of  Venus,  the  offended  Goddess  revenged 
herself  by  infusing  through  the  veins  of  Myrrha  an 
incestuous  love.  We  all  know  that  mythology  deals  with 
numerous  examples  of  monstrous  and  unrestrained 
passions  into  which  the  question  of  morality  does  not 
enter.  Alfieri,  with  unequalled  skill,  not  only  renders 
admissible  such  a  paradoxical  passion,  but  makes  the 
production  of  this  drama  most  touching. 

The  spectator  must  undoubtedly  be  moved  by  a  sense 
of  pity  through  witnessing  the  incessant  and  painful 
struggle  of  a  pure  soul  against  the  tortures  of  a  horrible 
passion.  She  is  the  prey  to  remorse,  to  shame,  and  to 
incomprehensible  desires.  The  very  repugnance  which 
she  feels  is  the  measure  both  of  her  enormity  and  of  her 
true  nature.  Alfieri  himself  expresses  pity  for  her  at  the 
end  of  his  tragedy. 

No  matter  how  bold  the  task  of  the  author  in  his  at- 
tempt of  treating  and  placing  before  the  public  this  de- 
monstration of  illicit  love,  one  can  imagine  what  a  dreadful 

194 


COUNT  VITTORIO  ALFIERI 

One  of  the  most  important  of  the  Italian  dramatic  poets.     (1749-1803) 


MYRRHA  195 

undertaking  the  interpretation  of  such  a  character  must 
be  for  any  actress.  I  frankly  admit  that  this  interpre- 
tation was  the  only  study — through  all  my  professional 
career — in  which  its  great  difficulties  paralysed  my  his- 
trionic faculties  at  the  outset. 

The  task  of  having  to  portray  the  savage  contrasts 
which  succeed  one  another  without  intermission  within 
the  soul  of  that  unfortunate  girl,  and  the  continuous 
struggle  with  her  own  cruel  sufferings  ;  the  task  of  having 
to  demonstrate  that  the  criminal  element  in  her  nature 
is  not  her  own,  and  that  the  power  is  her  own  to  eradicate 
from  her  heart  the  guilty  passion  that  has  become  so 
cruel  as  to  incline  her  to  self-destruction  ;  the  task  of  dis- 
playing from  time  to  time  the  outbursts  of  that  fatal 
passion,  rendering  life-like  all  its  terrible  effects,  seemed 
to  me  almost  an  impossibility. 

Since  I  was  a  girl  of  fourteen  I  had  been  able,  owing 
to  my  precociously  developed  figure,  to  take  the  parts 
of  the  leading  lady,  such  as  Francesca,  in  "  Francesca 
da  Rimini,"  and  up  to  the  end  of  my  professional  career 
I  possessed  a  great  facility  of  imitation,  a  gift  which 
helped  me  to  incarnate  the  character  satisfactorily  no 
matter  what  role  I  undertook.  It  was  only  with  the  study 
of  the  unnatural  role  of  Myrrha  that  I  felt  discouraged. 
If  it  had  only  been  owing  to  a  sense  of  vanity  that  had 
taken  hold  of  me  I  should  have  mastered  it,  but  to 
master  that  repugnance  appeared  to  me  for  a  long  period 
of  time  to  be  beyond  my  ability. 

In  the  year  1848,  with  the  sudden  change  in  the  form 
of  government  in  Italy,  it  was  allowable  to  perform  upon 
the  stage  and  to  produce  in  Rome  works  which  had  been 
previously  forbidden  by  the  Pontifical  censor.  Then 
the  idea  struck  my  manager  to  present  "Myrrha,"  one 
of  the  tragedies  placed  without  the  pale.  At  that  time 
I  was  about  to  become  the  mother  of  my  first  child,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  preposterous  that  I  should  have  to  take 
the  role  of  a  pure  and  modest  girl  of  twenty  possessed 
with  such  a  horrible  love  passion. 

I  opposed  myself  to  it  with  every  means  in  my  power 
but  could  not  gain  release  from  my  managers,  who  were 
anxious  to  increase  their  box  receipts  with  the  production 


196         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

of  this  tragedy.  As  I  was  dependent  upon  their  authority 
I  could  not  entirely  refuse  and,  moreover,  my  fellow -actors 
of  the  company  urged  me  to  accept  the  part.  I  learnt  the 
part  of  Myrrha,  which  contains  370  lines,  in  four  days! 
How  was  it  possible  for  me  to  study  and  absorb  even 
the  fourth  part  of  the  role  and  incarnate  such  a  character? 
I  lacked  the  time  to  impress  upon  my  mind  even  the  most 
material  part  of  my  role,  inasmuch  as  one  knows  what 
great  difficulties  the  verses  of  Alfieri  present  and 
how  strange  is  their  quality.  The  result,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  was  bad  and  insignificant!  I  felt  so  dis- 
couraged that  I  swore  I  would  never  again  play  that 
tragedy.  It  was  only  in  the  year  1852,  when  some 
strong  influence  was  brought  to  bear,  that  I  changed  my 
mind.  The  renowned  leading-lady,  Madame  Carolina 
Internari,  who  honoured  me  with  a  true  motherly 
affection,  and  who  possessed  a  real  genius  for  tragedy, 
spoke  of  Myrrha  one  day,  and  reproached  me  for  my 
pusillanimity  in  refusing  to  make  another  attempt  to 
perform  the  part.  After  many  persistent  refusals  she 
offered  if  I  would  comply  with  her  wish,  to  arrange  the 
most  artistic  and  brilliant  feast  I  could  ever  imagine. 
So  strong  in  her  was  the  love  for  the  dramatic  profession 
and  for  the  beautiful  in  art,  that  though  she  herself  had 
always  played  most  successfully  the  chief  part,  exciting 
everywhere  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  yet  for  the  sake  of 
inducing  me  to  undertake  it  she  would  be  willing  to  play 
the  nurse,  Eurycleia,  a  part  of  a  certain  importance — 
but  not  that  of  leading-lady.  Her  generous  proposition 
conquered  me.  I  renounced  my  refusals  and  resumed 
the  study  of  "Myrrha."  But  what  a  strenuous  study  it  was  ! 
I  meditated  over  each  verse,  minutely  scrutinising  every 
conception,  analysing  every  word,  studying  the  expression 
of  the  eye  and  finally  I  succeeded  in  perceiving  how  that 
exceptional  character  should  be  interpreted.  I  had  made 
it  a  study  in  which  complexities  and  details  had  been 
carefully  observed  with  that  love  for  the  dramatic  art 
wnich  should  appeal  to  the  Italian  public  of  that  time,  for 
they  were  most  severe  admirers  as  well  as  critics,  showing 
a  delight  often  excited  to  deliriiim  when  dramatic  per- 
formances showed  artistic  work. 


MYRRH  A  197 

Toward  the  end  of  1852,  after  three  months'  hard 
work,  I  presented  myself  upon  the  stage  of  the  "  Teatro 
Niccolini"  in  Florence  to  perform  "Myrrha"  for  the 
second  time.  Through  having  with  me  the  true  soul  of 
tragedy,  Madame  Intemari,  I  was  infused  with  so  much 
courage,  so  much  force,  that  my  blood  boiled  in  my  veins, 
and  my  imagination  carried  me  away  so  that  I  felt  identi- 
fied with  the  miserable  experiences  of  Myrrha. 

That  tragedy  became  entirely  my  creation,  exclusively 
mine,  and  it  was  with  that  part,  in  1855,  at  the  "Salle 
Vantadour,"  I  captivated  the  Parisians  and  the  French 
press  was  echoed  later  by  the  other  nations. 

If  the  incestuous  love  of  Myrrha  was  repugnant  the 
people  could  not  help  but  admire  greatly  her  inborn  sense 
of  chastity  with  which  I  would  colour  my  interpretation, 
bringing  out  all  its  sacred  and  hidden  beauty. 

My  main  care  was  to  prove  to  the  public  that  if  the 
argimient  appeared  at  first  to  be  immoral  the  action 
was  not  such.  If  in  the  old  fable  Myrrha  appears  hateful 
and  despicable,  in  Alfieri's  tragedy  the  passion  of  the 
woman  is  dominated  by  the  natural  chastity  of  the  girl. 
I  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  several  mothers  say 
that  they  had  seen  nothing  in  the  play  to  offend  the 
modesty  of  their  daughters.  I  will,  by  the  way,  tell  a 
small  anecdote  which  strengthens  my  assertion  : 

A  young  girl  coming  home  much  impressed  with  what 
she  has  seen,  argued  with  her  friends  and  relatives  upon 
the  various  points  of  the  tragedy  and  said  to  them  : 

"But  why  is  Myrrha  so  strange  and  dissatisfied?  At 
times  she  wants  a  husband  and  at  other  times  she  doesn't  ; 
her  parents  are  always  ready;  she  sets  herself  the  day  of 
the  nuptials  and  does  not  want  to  hear  of  any  postpone- 
ment; she  shows  that  she  desires  it  ardently,  but  at  the 
last  moment  she  grows  angry  and  becomes  a  prey  to  the 
most  furious  grief.  She  rejects  her  betrothed,  sends 
invectives  to  her  mother  and  ends  the  tragedy  by  killing 
herself,  after  having  said  to  her  father: 

".     :      :     :     Thou    wouldst  see 
Even    that  sire  himself    with  horror  shudder, 
If  it  should  reach  the  ears  of     .      ;     '.     Cinyras     .     '.     ." 

but  what  was  the  matter  with  her?" 


198         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Then  the  father  of  the  ingenuous  girl,  who  was  as  much 
impressed  with  the  subject  of  Myrrha  as  his  daughter, 
finding  himself  embarrassed  how  to  answer  imagined  a 
pretext  worthy  of  himself  and  said  that  the  poor  girl 
had  swallowed  a  tarantula. 

In  fact,  to  the  mind  of  any  person  who  does  not  possess 
a  bright  intelligence,  the  furious  contrasts  of  Myrrha  are 
merely  confusing. 

In  the  first  scene  between  Myrrha  and  Pereus,  her 
future  husband,  I  would  use  all  my  art  to  conceal  the 
struggle  I  had  to  make  evident  in  that  situation  in  hiding 
the  cause  of  my  martyrdom  and  the  aversion  I  felt  for  any 
man  who  was  not  my  father.  Yet  I  had  to  show  some 
points  of  weakness,  as  indicated  by  the  author.  For 
instance  when  Pereus  says  : 

Pereus.     ".     .     .     .     Thou  dost  not  disdain 

To  be  mine?  Thou  dost  not  repent  it?     And  no 
Delay  whatever?     .     .     ." 

Feeling  her  courage  grow  faint,  Myrrha  answers  : 

Myrrha.    '  '  No  ;  'tis  the  day  ;  to-day  will  I  be  thine. 
But  let  our  sails  be  hoisted  to  the  winds 
To-morrow,  and  for  ever  let  us  leave 
These  shores  behind  us." 

Pereus.     ".     .     .     .     Do  I  hear  thee  right? 

With  such  abrupt  transition  how  canst  thou 
Thus  differ  from  thyself?  It  tortures  thee 
So  much  to  have  to  leave  thy  parents  dear, 
Thy  native  country;  yet  wouldst  thou  depart 
Thus  speedily,  for  ever?     .     .     ." 

Myrrha.     ".     .     .     .     Yes;     .     .     .     for  ever 

Will  I  abandon  them  :    .     .     and  die    .     .    of  grief    .     .  " 

These  lines  are  a  proof  of  the  constant  resolution  of 
Myrrha  who,  certain  as  she  is  that  she  will  die  through 
leaving  her  father,  prefers  death  to  prolonging  her  griev- 
ous existence  near  him. 

It  is  necessary  to  note  as  briefly  as  possible  some  of 
these  conceptions,  some  of  these  lines  so  hard  to  express, 
in  order  to  make  the  reader  acquainted  with  my  inter- 
pretation. 

Thus  in  the  third  act,  when  Myrrha  is  asked  to  speak 
to  her  parents,  I  advance  at  first  with  a  steady  step  and 


MYRRH  A  199 

pretend  that  my  sufferings  are  granting  me  a  moment's 
respite,  and  as  my  mother  comes  toward  me  with  an 
affectionate  appearance,  I  place  myself  so  that  my  father 
is  concealed  from  my  view.     Cecris  approaching  me  says  : 

Cecris.     "     ...     My   beloved   child 
Do  come  to  us.  Come,  come." 

But  after  that  "come  to  us,"  noticing  that  my  father 
is  before  me  I  halt  as  if  taken  with  a  shiver  .  .  .  thus 
explaining  why  my  mother  repeated  that  second  "come" 
as  if  to  signify,  "Why  dost  thou  halt?" 

Myrrha  then  says  to  herself  : 

Myrrha.     "Oh  Heav'ns!  my  father  also!     ..." 

At  the  exhortations  of  Cinyras,  at  the  caresses  of  my 
mother,  I  show  to  the  public  the  pain  of  my  soul,  saying 
to  myself  : 

Myrrha.     ".     .     .     .     Is  there  a  torment  in  the  world, 
That  can  compare  with  mine?     ...      " 

Urged  by  my  father,  and  still  more  insistently  urged 
by  my  mother,  I  do  not  know  what  pretext  to  find  in 
order  to  run  away  from  that  abyss  and  conceal  my  shame- 
ful passion.  My  internal  struggle  has  no  longer  any 
boimds     ...     it  seems  as  if  my  heart  would  burst. 

After  a  superhuman  effort  not  to  betray  myself,  I 
resolutely  murmur: 

Myrrha.     '  '  Myrrha,  this  is  the  last  conflict. 
Be  strong,  my  soul.     ..." 

At  the  sight  of  the  miserable  state  of  his  daughter  and 
hearing  of  the  sufferings  she  is  in,  with  an  authoritative 
voice  my  father  says: 

Cinyras.     '  '  No,  this  shall  never  be.     Thou  lov'st  not  Pereus; 
And,  spite  of  inclination,  thou,  in  vain, 
Wouldst  give  thyself  to  him.     .     .     ." 

Then  with  a  cry  uttered  from  the  depths  of  my  soul, 
seeing  my  last  effort  to  escape  from  that  wicked  passion 
vain,  I  exclaim: 

Myrrha.    "Ah,   do  not  ye 

Take  me  from  him  ;  or  quickly  give  me  death.  " 


200         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

After  a  short  pause,  as  if  to  recover  my  strength  and 
explain  the  constant  alternative  of  my  proposals,  I 
continue  : 

Myrrha.     "  'Tis  true,  perchance,  I  love  him  not  as  much 

As  he  loves  me  ;     .     .     and  yet,  of  this  I  doubt. 

Believe,  that  I  sufficiently  esteem  him  ; 

And  that  no  other  man  in  all  the  world, 

If  he  have  not,  shall  ever  have  my  hand. 

I  hope  that  Pereus,  as  he  ought  to  be. 

Will  to  my  heart  be  dear  ;  by  living  with  him 

In  constant  and  inseparable  faith, 

I  hope  that  he  will  make  both  peace  and  joy 

Return  to  me  again:  that  life  may  be 

Still  dear  to  me,  and  peradventure  happy. 

Ah!  if  I  hitherto  have  loved  him  not 

As  he  deserves,  'tis  not  a  fault  of  mine. 

But  rather  of  my  state;  which  makes  me  first 

Abhor  myself.     .     .     Him  have  I  chosen  once  ; 

And  now,  again  I  choose  him;  long  for  him. 

Solicit  him,  and  him  alone.     My  choice 

Beyond  expression  to  yourselves  was  grateful; 

Be  then,  as  ye  did  wish,  as  now  I  wish, 

The  whole  accomplish'd.  Since  I  show  myself 

Sifperior  to  my  grief,  do  ye  so  likewise. 

As  joyfully  as  may  be,  soon  will  I 

Come  to  the  nuptials:  ye  will  find  yourselves 

Some  day  made  happy  by  them.  '  ' 

By  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  poet,  I  endeavoured 
to  make  real  the  unheard  of  effort  that  unhappy  girl 
made  in  trying  to  reject  the  paternal  caresses  of  her 
father,  and  attribute  her  grief  to  a  temporary  and 
unknown  cause. 

At  the  sight  of  that  horrible  struggle  in  a  soul,  the  prey 
of  a  guilty  passion  whch  she  is  unable  to  suppress,  who 
would  not  be  moved  to  pity  for  the  unfortunate  child, 
the  victim  of  an  adverse  fate. 

I  take  every  possible  care  never  to  meet  the  gaze  of 
my  father,  without  neglecting  to  make  the  spectator 
notice  my  jealous  ire  against  my  mother,  seeing  her  to  be 
the  recipient  of  his  conjugal  cares  and  love. 

One  of  these  moments,  I  may  mention,  was  when 
Cinyras  has  been  listening  to  the  reasons  that  his  daughter 
gives  to  show  the  necessity  for  her  leaving  him.  She 
sadly  approaches  her  mother  and  embraces  her  saying: 

Cinyras.    "And  thou,  sweet  consort,  standest  motionless, 
In  tears?    .    .    .    Consentest  thou  to  her  desire?  " 


-"*^«1„. 


•*£^'" 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI  AS  MVKRHA 


i  e  offro  y 


MYRRHA  20I 

With  that  caress,  I  pretend  to  make  an  attempt  to 
prevent  such  an  effusive  impulse;  and  feeling  suddenly 
ashamed,  I  wrap  myself  in  my  cloak  and  run  to  the  back 
of  the  stage.  I  then  take  leave  of  my  parents  with  these 
words  : 

Myrrha.  '  '  Now  for  a  little  while,  do  I  retire 

To  my  apartments:  fain  would  I  appear 
With  tearless  eyes  before  the  altar;  meeting 
My  noble  spouse  with  brow  serene,  and  cheerful." 

I  exchange  a  touching  embrace  with  my  mother  and 
approaching  my  father,  who  is  anxious  to  receive  my 
embrace,  I  avoid  it  by  bowing  down  before  him  with  a 
simulated  expression  of  respect,  showing  the  ardour 
which  has  possessed  me.  Then,  overtaken  with  the 
most  intense  anguish,  I  rush  behind  the  scenes. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  act  the  author  represents 
Myrrha,  in  a  calm  and  serene  frame  of  mind,  smiling  in 
such  a  way  as  to  cause  Eurycleia  to  say  : 

Eurycleia.  "A  cruel  and  a  mortifying  joy, 

That  thou  dost  manifest  in  leaving  us.     .     .      " 

This  joy  appears  to  be  the  natural  consequence  of  the 
satisfaction  that  Myrrha  experiences  in  that  moment, 
believing  she  has  conquered  the  obstacles  which  were 
opposing  her  departure.  In  that  way  she  can  withdraw 
herself  from  the  power  her  fatal  enemy  exercises  upon 
her. 

Myrrha.  '  '  Yes,  much-loved  spouse  ;  for  this  tender  name 
Already  I  accost  thee  ;  if  a  wish 
My  bosom  ever  fervently  inspired, 
I  am  all  burning  at  the  break  of  day 
To  go  from  hence,  in  company  with  thee, 
And  so  I  will.     To  find  myself  at  once 
With  thee  alone;  no  longer  to  behold 
Displayed  before  my  sight  the  many  objects 
So  long  the  witnesses,  perchance  the  cause. 
Of  my  distress  ;  to  sail  in  unknown  seas  ; 
To  land  in  countries  hitherto  unseen; 
To  breathe  a  fresh  invigorating  air  ; 
And  evermore  to  witness  at  my  side, 
Beaming  with  exultation,  and  with  love, 
A  spouse  like  thee  ;  all  this,  I  am  convinced 
Will  in  a  short  time  make  me  once  again 
Such  as  I  used  to  be 

Do  thou, 

Of  my  abandon 'd  and  paternal  realm, 


202         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Of  my  disconsolate  and  childless  parents, 

In  short,  of  nothing,  that  was  once  my  own, 

Once  precious  to  my  heart,  remind  me  ever. 

Nor  even  breathe  to  me  their  thrilling  names. 

This,  this  will  be  the  only  remedy 

That  will  for  ever  stanch  the  bitter  fount 

Of  my  all-fearful,  never-ceasing  tears." 

This  shows  how  different  Myrrha  was  when  not  in  the 
presence  of  her  father.  Then  she  knew  well  how  to 
conquer  her  internal  passion  and  dominate  herself,  but 
with  the  appearance  of  Cinyras,  in  order  to  show  the 
contrast  and  the  instantaneous  effect  that  the  sight  of 
her  father  produces,  I  succeed  in  making  evident  the 
chill  which  runs  through  my  veins.  My  hair  rises  .  .  . 
my  agitation  is  profound  and  unconquerable.  The 
public  noticing  that,  shows  its  sympathy  for  me.  This 
is  one  of  the  most  intense  situations  of  the  tragedy. 

With  the  reawakening  of  the  fury  of  Myrrha,  the 
chorus  begins  the  first  verse  of  the  nuptial  rite.  Then 
her  face  becomes  of  a  deathlike  pallor  .  .  .  her 
limbs  contract  .  .  .  Her  nurse,  the  only  one  who 
notices  this,  approaches  her  frightened,  and  whispers: 

Eurycleia.  "Daughter,  what  ails  thee?  dost  thou  tremble?    .    .    . 
Heav'ns!     ...     " 

To  which  Myrrha  answers,  tremblingly: 

Myrrha.    "Peace.     .     .     .     peace.     .     .     ." 
Eurycleia.     "     ...      But  yet     ...      " 

Then  resolutely  and  with  authority: 
Myrrita.  "     ....     No,  no;  I  do  not  tremble." 

Meanwhile,  tears  in  abundance  run  from  her  eyes. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  magnificent  passages  of  this 
act.  I  recollect  that  it  cost  me  a  great  deal  of  study, 
to  interpret  exactly  the  moral  torment  of  Myrrha,  caused 
by  the  insistent  questions  of  her  mother,  and  the  struggle 
within  herself  to  accomplish  her  nuptials  even  at  the 
sacrifice  of  her  life.  Two  powerful  situations  are  ex- 
pressed in  the  following  lines  : 

Cecris.      "Thy    count'nance    changes?     .     .     .     Thou    art    faint, 
and  trembling? 
And  scarce  thy  falt'ring  knees.     ..." 


MYRRHA  203 

Myrrha.    " For  pity's  sake, 

Do  not,  O  mother,  with  thy  accents  bring 
My  constancy  to  too  severe  test: 
I  cannot  answer  for  my  countenance;     .     .     . 
But  this  I  know,  the  purpose  of  my  heart 
Is  steady  and  immutable." 

But  when  the  chorus  reaches  the  third  line  of  the 
nuptial  hymn  : 

Chorus.     "Pure  Faith,  and  Ooncord,  lasting  and  divine. 

Have  placed  in  this  fond  couple's  breast  their  shrine; 

And  fell  Alecto,  and  her  sisters  dread, 

In  vain  their  torches'  lurid  glare  would  shed 

On  the  brave  bosom  of  the  bride  so  fair, 

Whose  praises  all  our  pow'r  exceed:" 

the  chest  of  Myrrha  expands  in  an  endeavour  to  repress 
and  conceal  the  terrible  tempest  which  rages  within. 
When  she  hears  : 

Chorus.    "While  deadly  Discord,  frantic  with  despair. 
Upon  himself  in  vain  doth  feed.     ...      " 

At  those  words  I  show  that  Myrrha  had  reached  the 
paroxysm  of  her  despair,  that  her  ire  will  explode  like 
thunder,  and  crazy  with  rage,  I  exclaim: 

Myrrha.  "What  is  that  ye  say?  My  heart  already 
By  all  the  baneful  Furies  is  assail'd. 
See  them  ;  the  rabid  sisters  round  me  glare 
With  sable  torches,  and  with  snaky  scourge: 
Behold  the  torches,  which  these  nuptials  merit.     .     .      " 

At  that  point  I  transform  the  expression  of  my  face, 
as  if  I  were  the  prey  of  delirium,  and  after  a  short  pause, 
I  say,  frightened: 

Myrrha.  "But  what?  the  hymns  have  ceased?    .    .    .    Who  to  his 
breast 
Thus  clasps  me?  Where  am  I?  What  have  I  said? 
Am  I  a  spouse  already?     ...      " 

After  these  words,  with  a  quick  turn  of  my  person, 
I  find  myself  face  to  face  with  my  father  who,  with  his 
arms  on  his  chest,  is  looking  at  me  in  a  threatening  way  ! 
Struck  by  that  glance,  my  blood  grows  chill,  my  courage 
fails  and  crying:  "Alas!"  I  fall  upon  the  ground,  as 
if  struck  by  lightning. 

Then,  slowly  the  mother  and  the  nurse  lift  me  up,  en- 
deavouring to  bring  me  back  to  life.  Without  my  having 
reacquired  my  senses,  and  only  owing  to  the  magnetic 


204         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

effect  of  my  father's  voice,  I  hear  confusedly  his  austere 
and  threatening  words.  Then  I  answer  in  a  subdued  tone 
of  voice,  hardly  audible  : 

Myrrha.  " Yes: 

'Tis  as  it  should  be  :  Cinyras,  be  thou 
With  me  inexorable;  for  naught  else 
I  wish;  naught  else  I  will.     He,  he  alone 
Can  terminate  the  bitter  martyrdom 
Of  an  unhappy  and  unworthy  daughter — 
Plunge  thou  within  my  breast  that  vengeful  sword, 
Which  now  is  hanging  idly  by  thy  side  : 
Thou  gavest  me  this  wretched,  hateful  life; 
Take  thou  it  from  me:  lo!  the  last,  last  gift 
For  which  I  supplicate  thee.     .     .     Ah,  reflect. 
If  thou  thyself,  and  with  thy  own  right  hand, 
Dost  not  destroy  me,  thou  reservest  me 
To  perish  by  my  own,  and  for  naught  else." 

Alfieri  continually  shows  that  the  love  of  Myrrha  can- 
not be  mastered,  except  with  death! 

I  again  faint  with  my  last  words,  without  noticing  that 
I  am  held  by  my  father  also. 

In  the  two  following  scenes,  Myrrha  comes  slowly  back 
to  herself,  and  having  remained  alone  with  her  mother, 
experiences  a  mingling  of  pity,  of  anguish,  of  remorse, 
and  even  of  jealousy  by  seeing  her  hated  rival  at  her  side, 
the  one  who  possesses  the  love  of  Cinyras,  and  when 
Cecris  tells  her: 

Cecris.  " I  rather  will 

From  this  hour  forth  perpetually  watch 
Over  thy  life." 

Myrrha,  beside  herself  with  rage,  answers  : 

Myrrha.    " Thou  watch  o'er  my  life? 

Must  I,  at  ev'ry  instant,  I,  behold  thee? 

Thou  evermore  before  my  eyes?  Ah,  first 

I  will  that  these  same  eyes  of  mine  be  closed 

In  everlasting  darkness  :  I  myself 

With  these  my  very  hands  would  pluck  them  first 

From  my  own  face.     .     .      " 

And  when  Cecris  adds  : 

Cecris.  ".     .     .     O  Heav'ns!     What  hear  I?     .     .     Heav'ns!.     .     . 
O   daughter!      ...     I   the   cause?      .     .     .     But,    see, 

thy   tears 
Gush  forth  in  torrents.     .     .     ." 

with  a  ferocious,  despairing  voice,  she  answers  : 

Myrrha.  " Yes,  thou,  alas!  hast  been, 

In  giving  life  to  such  an  impious  wretch. 
The  cause  of  all  my  woes!  " 


MYRRHA  20S 

But,  feeling  imijiediately  moved  by  the  looks  of  her 
angered  mother,  and  knowing  those  horrible  words  have 
come  to  her  lips  owing  to  an  irresistible  impulse,  she  is 
ashamed  of  having  allowed  herself  to  be  carried  away 
by  wrath.  Her  natural  kindness  of  heart  then  triumphs, 
and  blushing,  she  felt  her  power  abandoning  her,  and 
while  allowing  herself  to  be  softly  dragged  away  to  her 
room,  she  would  caress  and  kiss  her  mother  affectionately. 

Cinyras,  in  a  desperate  state,  having  heard  of  the  death 
of  the  unhappy  Pereus,  wants  to  put  an  end  to  his 
wretched  life  and  have  at  any  cost  a  talk  with  Myrrha, 
having  resolved  to  speak  to  her  with  his  disdainful  pater- 
nal authority.  Behold,  she  is  advancing.  The  lines  that 
Alfieri  puts  upon  his  lips  before  Myrrha  shows  herself 
to  the  public,  clearly  indicate  the  frame  of  mind  she  must 
be  in.  ■ 

Cinyras.  " Alas,  how  she  approaches 

With  tardy  and  reluctant  steps!  It  seems 
As  if  she  came  to  die  before  my  eyes." 

And  then,  clad  in  a  simple  Greek  tunic  of  white  woollen, 
my  hair  dishevelled,  pale  and  with  haggard  eyes  looking 
down  and  with  unsteady  steps,  I  come  in. 

The  public  would  at  a  glance  understand  my  sinister 
intention  and  be  prepared  to  Mdtness  the  unavoidable 
catastrophe.  As  soon  as  I  am  in  the  presence  of  my 
father  I  am  like  one  petrified,  bending  my  head  and 
awaiting  my  condemnation. 

During  the  address  of  Cinyras  to  Myrrha,  in  order  to 
find  out  the  reason  of  her  martyrdom,  it  is  evident  that 
not  only  does  the  flame  of  love  consume  her,  but  it  is  an 
obscure  flame,  unworthy  of  her,  or  else  she  would  not 
have  concealed  it  from  all.  Without  a  word  but  denials 
and  interrupted  monosyllables,  with  gestures  of  pain  and 
unspeakable  anguish,  I  make  a  counter-scene  to  arrange 
almost  a  dialogue  with  my  father. 

When  Cinyras  says: 

Cinyras.  "But  who  is  ever  worthy  of  thy  heart, 
If  Pereus,  true,  incomparable  lover, 
Could  not  indeed  obtam  it?  " 

I  arranged  that  he,  in  saying  those  lines,  should  turn 
to  the  side  where  Pereus  had  killed  himself,  while  I,  filled 


2o6         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

with  love  at  the  sound  of  his  pitiful  voice,  extend  my  arm 
as  if  by  an  involuntary  impulse,  pointing  to  "him,"  as 
the  only  one  who  deserves  it.  But  Cinyras  suddenly 
turns,  and  I  lower  my  eyes,  drawing  back  in  order  not  to 
be  surprised  in  that  attitude.  Then  seeing  myself  on 
the  point  of  betraying  myself,  and  not  feeling  any  longer 
the  strength  to  oppose  his  urging,  I  say,  in  a  voice  filled 
with  bitterness  : 

Myrrha.  " O  death,  O  death, 

Whom  I  so  much  invoke,  wilt  thou  still  be 
Deaf  to  my  grief  ?     .     .     ." 

Noticing  that  escape  is  impossible,  that  any  pretext  is 
useless  to  combat  the  absolute  will  of  Cinyras,  and 
resolving  to  reveal  my  secret,  I  exclaim: 

Myrrha.  " O  Heav'ns!.     .     .     . 

I  love  yes,  since  thou  forcest  me  to  say  it; 
I  desperately  love,  and  love  in  vain." 

Then  as  if  I  hoped  that  such  a  confession  would  prove 
sufficient,  I  say  nothing  further  except: 

Myrrha.  '  '  But,  who's  the  object  of  that  hopeless  passion, 
Nor,  thou,  nor  anyone,  shall  ever  know  : 
He  knows  it  not  himself     .     .     .     and  when  I 
Almost  deny  it  to  myself." 

After  my  father's  answer,  in  which  he  protests  that 
he  wishes  to  save  his  daughter  at  any  cost,  and  seeing 
that  I  cannot  longer  avoid  a  most  painful  confession,  I 
break  forth  beside  myself: 

Myrrha.  ".     .     .   Me  saved?     .     .     .     What  dreamest  thou?     .     . 
These  very  words  accelerate  my  death. 
Let  me,  for  pity's  sake,  ah,  let  me  quickly 
For  ever     .     .     drag  myself     .     .     from  thee    .     .     . 

Resolutely  I  am  about  to  run,  but  am  restrained  by 
the  affectionate  cry  of  my  father: 

Cinyras.  " O  daughter, 

Sole,  and  beloved;  O,  what  say'st  thou?  Ah! 
Come  to  thy  father's  arms." 

Overcome  by  the  violence  of  love,  as  if  a  supernatural 
power  attracted  me  to  him,  filled  with  passion,  I  am 
about  to  fall  into  his  arms,  but  at  that  contact,  hardly 
touching  him,  I  am  filled  with  horror  and  draw  back, 
repulsing  him. 


MYRRHA  207 

When,  finally,  there  is  no  longer  any  possible  chance  of 
hiding  the  wicked  flame  which  bums  her,  Myrrha  finds 
with  a  single  phrase  the  way  to  reveal  herself  and,  stam- 
mering in  a  subdued  voice,  says  : 

Myrrha.     ".     .     .     .     Thou  wouldst  see 

Even  that  sire  himself  with  horror  shudder, 
If  it  should  reach  the  ears  of  .     .     .     Cinyras.  " 

I  pronounce  this  name  as  if  all  the  passion  of  my  soul 
had  brought  it  to  my  lips,  remaining  motionless  for  an 
instant,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  awaiting  his  answer. 

My  heartrending  grief  has  no  longer  any  limit,  when 
Cinyras,  having  understood  the  true  sense  of  the  words 
he  has  heard,  swears  to  relieve  his  daughter  forever  from 
that  insane  passion.  At  such  a  threat  Myrrha,  unable 
to  stand  the  thought  of  being  forever  abandoned  by  her 
father,  and  thinking  of  her  mother  who  will  live  always 
happy  in  his  arms,  gives  way  to  her  jealous  passion, 
saying  : 

Myrrha.     "O  happy  is  my  mother!     .     .     .     she,  at  last, 

Press'd  in   thy    arms     .     .     may    breathe     .     .     her 
last  sigh     ...      " 

The  accentuation,  the  gesture,  the  look  filled  with 
immense  love  can  no  longer  leave  the  slightest  doubt 
in  Cinyras  of  the  meaning  of  those  words.  Then  Myrrha, 
realising  that  she  has  no  other  way  to  escape  from  dis- 
honour, with  a  sudden  and  quick  gesture,  takes  the  poig- 
nard  from  the  side  of  her  father  and  stabs  herself  in  the 
heart,  saying: 

Myrrha.  ".     .     .     .     Lo!      .     .     .     to  thee     .     .     . 

I  now  restore  it.     .     .     .     I  at  least  possess'd 
A  hand  as  swift  and  desp'rate  as  my  tongue." 

and  falls  dying  upon  the  floor.     At  that  moment  Cecris 
and  Eurycleia  rush  in. 

Being  held  by  the  arms  of  the  nurse,  and  hearing  Cin- 
yras about  to  reveal  the  awful  passion  to  his  wife,  I 
make  an  attempt  to  rise,  and  with  pitiful  gestures  I  beg 
him  not  to  proceed  but  to  spare  me  the  shame  of  that 
fault.  But  my  prayer  is  in  vain,  and  gasping  I  fall  on 
the   bosom  of   Eurycleia.     Left   alone  with  her,    in   a 


2o8  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

dying  voice  and  an  accent  of  reproach,  I  would  speak 
these  last  lines: 

Myrrha.  " When  I  ask'd     . 

It    ...    of  thee    .    .    .    thou    .    .    .    O  Eurycleia.     .     . 

then 
Shouldest     .     .     .     have  given     ...    to  my  hands    .     . 

the  sword  ; 
I   had  died    ...    guiltless    .    .    .    guilty    .    .    .    now  I 

die.     ..." 

and  I  fall  heavily ,  dead,  upon  the  floor. 


In  the  analytical  exposition  of  this  very  difficult  study, 
I  hope  I  have  succeeded  in  impressing  the  reader  with 
my  endeavour  to  reach  Alfieri's  conception  of  the  part, 
and  also  to  demonstrate  how  an  impure  passion,  enclosed 
in  that  innocent  soul,  may  be  able  to  inspire  a  sense  of 
pity  for  the  unhappy  girl,  the  victim  of  the  wrath  of 
Venus. 

In  order  to  prove  how  great  was  the  repentance  and 
the  remorse  of  Myrrha,  I  will  repeat  what  Ovid  makes 
her  say  : 

"Oh  Gods!  If  any  one  of  you  is  accessible  to  the  voice 
of  repentance,  I  have  deserved  the  most  cruel  martyrdom 
and  am  ready  to  meet  it.  But  I  wish  not  to  offend 
either  the  looks  of  the  living  nor  those  of  the  shadows 
by  descending  to  the  dead.  Hence  do  exclude  me  out  of 
both  kingdoms,  and  with  a  metamorphosis  deny  to  me 
equally  life  or  death." 

The  repentant  finds  the  Gods  merciful,  and  the  last 
wishes  of  Myrrha  were  fulfilled.  She  was  still  speaking 
when  the  earth  began  to  cover  her  feet.  Roots  grew  out 
of  her  toenails  to  hold  the  stalk  that  w^ould  grow.  Her 
bones  became  solid  wood,  still  preserving  their  marrow; 
her  blood  turned  into  syrup,  her  arms  became  long 
branches,  her  fingers  twigs  and  her  skin  a  hard  bark.  The 
size  of  her  trunk  disappeared  within  the  thickness  of  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  which  already  reaches  her  chest  and  is 
about  to  encircle  her  neck.  Myrrha,  without  opposing 
herself  to  the  progress  of  the  tree,  meets  it  by  immerging 
her  face  in  it.  Though  she  has  lost  her  last  senses  of  the 
body,  she  still  weeps,  and  those  tears  possess  a  great 


MYRRHA 


209 


virtue.  The  perfume  that  comes  out  of  them  bears 
her  name  and  will  be  venerated  through  the  coming 
ages. 

Est  tales  exorsa  preces:  "O,  si  qua  patetis 
'  '  Numina  confessis,  merui,  nee  triste  recuse 
"Supplicium.      Sed,  ne  violem  vivosque  superstes, 
"Mortuaque  extinctos,  ambobus  pellite  regnis, 
"Mutataeque  mihi  vitamque  necemque  negate." 
Numen  confessis  aliquod  patet.     Ultima  certe 
Vota  suos  habuere  deos.      Nam  crura  loquentis 
Terra  supervenit,  ruptosque  obliqua  per  ungues; 
Porrigitur  radix,  longi  firmamina  trunci  ; 
Ossaque  robur  argunt  ;  mediaque  manente  medulla, 
Sanguis  it  in  succos,  in  magnos  brachia  ramos. 
In  parvos  digitos;  duratur  cortice  pellis. 
lamque  gravem  crescens  uterum  perstrinxerat  arbor, 
Pectaroque  obruerat,  collumque  operire  parabat. 
Non  tulit  ilia  moram  venientique  obvia  ligno, 
Subsedit,  mersitque  suos  in  cortice  vultus. 
Quae,  quanquam  amisit  veteres  cum  corpore  sensus, 
Flet,  tamen,  et  tepidae  manant  ex  arbore  guttae. 
Est  honor  et  lacrymis;  stillataque  cortice  Myrrha 
Nomen  herile  tenet,  nullique  tacebitur  aevo. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PHiEDRA — A   TRAGEDY   BY   JEAN   RACINE 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  Racine,  in  composing  his 
magnificent  tragedy  of  "Phaedra,"  found  his  inspiration 
in  all  that  is  beautiful  and  true  in  the  tragedies  of  Seneca 
and  Euripides,  the  two  great  masters  of  tragic  composi- 
tion. Both  of  their  tragedies  bear  the  title  of 
"Hippolytus." 

This  is  what  Racine  says  in  the  preface  of  his  "Phasdra"  : 

Quoique  j'  aie  stiivi  une  route  un  peu  differente  de  celle  de  cet  autetir 
(speaking  of  Euripides)  pour  la  condiate  de  l'action,  je  n'ai  pas  laisse 
d'enrichir  ma  piece  de  tout  ce  qui  m'a  paru  eclatant  dans  la  sienne. 

(Although  I  have  followed  a  little  different  route  from  the  one  of 
this  author  (meaning  Euripides)  for  the  procedure  of  the  action  of  the 
play,  yet  I  have  not  hesitated  to  enrich  my  drama  with  all  that  has 
seemed  to  me  most  striking  in  his.) 

As  an  illustration  of  this,  Racine  found  the  first  scene 
that  Phasdra  has  with  the  nurse  CEnone  in  the  tragedy 
of  Euripides  so  wonderful  that  he  wished  to  imitate  it  by 
introducing  Phaedra  in  the  first  act  of   his  own  drama. 

Euripides  also  represents  her  as  ready  to  die,  seeing 
that  she  is  unable  to  conquer  with  chastity  "  that  guilty 
and  impure  love." 

A  masterly  conception,  and  entirely  his  own,  is  Racine's 
manner  of  giving  a  total  change  to  the  action  at  the  end 
of  the  first  act.  He  has  the  announcement  of  the  sup- 
posed death  of  Theseus,  brought  to  the  queen  by  the 
maid  Panopa,  at  the  very  moment  when  Phaedra  is  over- 
come by  bitter  remorse  for  her  illegitimate  passion,  and 
having  certainty  besides  of  never  being  able  to  satisfy 
it,  she  is  so  hateful  even  to  herself  that  she  has  decided 
to  allow  herself  to  die  of  languor. 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning  joy  finds  a  place  in  her  heart 


JEAN   RACINE 
The  great  French  tragic  poet,     (i  639-1  6qo) 


PH^DRA  211 

when  she  sees  death  break  the  tie  which  renders  her  love 
a  wrong  and  desperate  one. 

Phcedra.  " he  broke  the  chain 

Which  made  him  execrable  and  desperate." 

Her  remorse  is  silent.  The  sweet  hope  that  Hippoly- 
tus,  after  knowing  of  the  death  of  his  father,  may  respond 
to  her  affection,  gladdens  her  mind  as  a  ray  of  sunshine 
in  the  midst  of  a  furious  tempest.  Like  a  young  girl 
who  hears  for  the  first  time  some  sweet  words  whispered 
in  her  ear  from  loving  lips,  Phsedra  listens  to  the  per- 
suasive and  insinuating  words  of  her  nurse.  The  prey  of 
a  thousand  contrary  sentiments  of  affection,  a  soft  smile 
comes  to  her  pale  lips,  and  she  decides  to  preserve  her 
life  and  to  abandon  herself  entirely  to  (Enone,  making 
believe,  that  only  for  "the  love  of  her  son  "  she  consents 
to  renounce  her  firm  determination  to  die. 

Racine  by  introducing  this  episode  in  his  tragedy 
has  demonstrated  that  he  has  understood  all  the  truth 
and  the  beauty  of  the  manner  in  which  Seneca,  in  the 
third  scene  of  the  second  act,  causes  Phaedra  to  reveal 
to  Hippolytus,  the  passion  she  feels  for  him. 

She  at  first  feigns  perplexity  when  resolving  to  reveal 
herself.  Then  comes  the  crescendo  which  leads  her 
to  her  confession,  which  rouses  only  fury  and  disdain 
in  Hippolytus.  Racine  changes  the  action  of  the  drama 
in  this  :  He  places  in  the  3d  act  the  perfidious  web  of  lies 
woven  by  (Enone  against  Hippolytus,  in  order  to  save 
her  beloved  and  unfortunate  queen,  and  changes  the 
incriminating  silent  assent  that  Seneca  causes  Phsedra 
to  give  to  a  guilty  action  into  noble  rejections  the  con- 
sent to  such  wickedness.  It  is  also  true  that  Phaedra, 
in  Racine's  tragedy  as  well,  agrees  that  (Enone  accuses 
the  innocent  Hippolytus  of  an  infam.ous  plot;  however 
all  this  is  justified  by  the  terrible  situation  in  which  the 
author  places  her. 

Theseus,  who  was  believed  to  be  dead,  comes  back 
and  is  about  to  discover,  at  any  instant,  her  guilt  and  her 
shame.  Phaedra,  certain  as  she  is  that  her  son  will  not 
betray  her  adulterous  passion,  though  she  has  previously 
demonstrated     her     repugnance     in     consenting      that 


212         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 
Hippolytus   may   be    accused   of   her   own   fault,    says: 

"  That  I  should  deny  him  ?     That  I  should  lose  him  ?     Never  !  " 

Seeing  him  approach  her  with  his  father  a  terror  assails 
her,  she  almost  loses  her  reason  and,  hardly  understanding 
the  words  of  CEnone,  gives  her  assent  to  that  crime,  as 
the  only  means  to  save  her  from  the  fury  of  her  husband 
and  release  her  from  dishonour. 

Phcedra.  ".     .     .     .     Ah!   I   see  Hippolytus; 

In  his  insolent  eyes  I  see  my  fall  written, 
Do  what  thou  wilt,  I  abandon  myself  to  thee. 
In  the  perplexity  in  which  I  am,  I  can  do  nothing  for 
myself." 

Seneca,  Euripides  and  Racine  make  Phaedra  die  for 
three  different  causes.  Seneca  has  it  that  she  goes  into 
a  terrible  rage  when  she  learns  the  tragic  end  of  "Hip- 
polytus," which  she  has  really  caused  by  the  perfidious 
accusation  made  against  him  by  way  of  revenge  for  his 
rejection  of  her.  She  is  assailed  with  bitter  remorse  at 
the  sight  of  that  mutilated  corpse  of  the  miserable  young 
man,  sacrificed  for  her  by  her  father,  and  she  throws 
herself  in  despair  upon  the  corpse  of  Hippolytus.  Tearing 
her  hair  she  reveals  to  Theseus  all  the  immensity  of  her 
guilt,  of  her  perfidy,  forwhich  she  finds  a  just  punishment  in 
death,  and  she  kills  herself  with  her  own  hand  by  stabbing 
herself  with  a  poignard  in  the  presence  of  her  husband. 

Euripides,  in  his  "Hippolytus,"  makes  Phsedra  appear 
the  unhappy  victim  of  a  celestial  vengeance,  and,  as  such, 
worthy  of  pity.  This  increases  when  Phaedra  learns  of 
the  furious  grief  of  Hippolytus  because  of  the  impure 
passion  that  his  stepmother  feels  for  him  and  which  the 
slave  (Enone  has  revealed  to  her.  Filled  with  shame, 
and  furious  that  Hippolytus  is  aware  of  her  love  for  him, 
she  desires  to  escape  his  contempt  and  decides  to  die. 
She  accomplishes  the  fatal  deed  by  strangling  herself. 
This  extenuates  the  guilt  of  her  impure  love  and  renders 
Phaedra  an  object  of  compassion;  but  for  the  fact  that 
Euripides  makes  Diana  tell  Theseus,  after  the  unfortunate 
end  of  Hippolytus,  that  Phaedra  before  killing  herself 
conceives  the  guilty  design  of  writing  a  paper  in  which 
she  accuses  Hippolytus  of  having  dragged  her  to  that 
desperate  end  through  having  dishonoured  her  by  force. 


PHvEDRA  213 

This  low  and  unworthy  calumny  causes  her  to  become 
a  despicable  object  and  changes  to  disdain  and  horror 
the  pity  that  one  had  at  first  felt  for  her. 

These  are  the  lines  that  Euripides  makes  Diana  speak 
to  Theseus  : 

"  Why  of  an  iniquitous  death 

Did'st  thou  kill  thy  son,  oh  villain, 
And  happy  now  dost  live?  To  falsehood 
And  to  dark  words  of  thy  wife 
Thou  lend'st  faith,  and  guilty 
Art  thou  of  a  committed  murder." 


Racine,  on  the  contrary,  treats  the  end  of  this  queen 
more  nobly.  He  makes  her  feel  shame  at  having  revealed 
her  impure  passion  for  Hippolytus  on  seeing  herself 
rejected  with  horror  and  despised  by  him.  She  is  not 
able  to  stand  the  scrutinising  looks  of  Theseus,  feeling 
herself  guilty,  yet  consumed  with  jealous  rage  on  dis- 
covering in  Aricia  a  fortunate  rival.  Defying  the  wrath 
of  her  father  Minos,  when  he  would  descend  to  Hades  ; 
torn  with  remorse  for  having  yielded  to  the  perfidious 
insinuations  of  CEnone,  and  accusing  Hippolytus  of  her 
own  guilt,  she  swallows  a  powerful  poison  that  had  come 
from  Maedia.  With  the  sweat  of  death  on  her  brow 
she  drags  herself  before  Theseus,  and  gathers  together 
her  small  remaining  strength  in  order  to  proclaim  the 
innocence  of  Hippolytus  and  accuse  herself  alone  of  her 
impure  and  vehement  love  for  him.  She  affirms  that  she 
had  wished  to  put  an  end  to  her  days  with  a  poignard, 
but  she  wanted  first  to  confess  her  crime,  at  any  cost,  and 
so  had  chosen  a  slow  poison.  She  expires  amidst  horrible 
pain,  unconscious  even  of  the  death  of  Hippolytus.  This 
as  shown  by  the  following  lines: 

Panopa  in  the  fifth  scene  of  the  fifth  act,  comes  rushing 
in  to  Theseus  and  says: 

"I  am  ignorant  what  project  the  queen  meditates, 
My  lord,  but  I  fear  all  from  the  transport  which  agitates  her 
A  mortal  despair  is  painted  on  her  visage; 
The  paleness  of  death  is  already  her  complexion. 
Already  from  her  presence  driven  with  shame, 
CEnone  has  cast  herself  into  the  deep  sea; 
They  know  not  from  whence  springs  this  furious 

design, 
And  the  waves  forever  have  ravished  her  from  my  eyes." 


214         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Theseus.  "What  do  I  hear  ?  " 

Panopa.   "Her  death  has  not  calmed  the  queen. 

The  grief  seems  to  increase  in  her  uncertain  soul. 
Sometimes,  to  flatter  her  sweet  sorrows, 
She  takes  her  children  and  bathes  them  in  tears  ; 
And  suddenly,  renouncing  the  maternal  love, 
Her  hand  with  horror  repulses  them  away  : 
She  drags  herself  with  uncertain  step  heedlessly 

here  and  there 
Her  eye  all  wandering  recognising  us  not; 
Three  times  has  she  commenced  to  write:  and 

changing  the  thought 
Three  times  she  has  destroyed  the  commenced  letter. 
Deign  to  see  her,  my  lord,  deign  to  succour  her." 

After  this  scene  Theramenus  presents  himself  and 
weeping  tells  of  the  tragic  end  of  the  miserable  Hippolytus 
whose  lacerated  body  had  been  found  near  Mycenae. 
At  the  royal  palace  the  horrible  deed  was  unknown  ;  hence 
Phaedra  did  not  kill  herself  on  account  of  that,  but  on 
account  of  what  has  been  said  above. 

Some  people  may  find  it  superfluous  to  make  a  detailed 
comparison  of  the  way  in  which  the  character  of  Phaedra 
has  been  treated  in  the  three  tragedies  of  Seneca,  Eurip- 
ides and  Racine.  But  I  hope  that  this  study  of  mine 
may  be  of  some  interest  to  those  who  have  seen  me  play 
that  part  on  the  stage  as  well  as  to  those  who  have  never 
had  the  opportunity  of  doing  so  in  order  to  make  known 
to  them  how  I  interpreted  that  part. 

After  having  heard  of  the  great  difficulties  I  met  in 
the  study  of  the  character  Myrrha,  of  Vittorio  Alfieri, 
one  may  suppose  that  the  study  of  Phaedra  was  less 
strenuous.  It  is  so  to  a  certain  extent  because  its  con- 
trasts are  less  strange  and  less  terrible,  but  one  must  not 
neglect  to  say  that  the  interpretation  of  these  two  char- 
acters are  analogous,  both  heroines  being  victims  of  the 
vengeance  of  Venus. 

Venus  did  not  hate  Phaedra,  but  she  hated  Hippolytus, 
and  by  inoculating  Phaedra  with  a  strong,  incestuous 
passion  of  love,  chose  her  as  the  only  means  offered  to 
her  to  avenge  herself  upon  Hippolytus  because  he  had 
called  her  "a  wicked  Goddess";  because  he  was  diso- 
bedient to  the  laws  of  love  and  because  also,  he  professed 
all  his  worship  for  Diana,   daughter  of  Jupiter,   whom 


PH^DRA  215 

only  he  adored,  calling  her  "The  Greatest  of  all 
Goddesses."  (This  is  what  Euripides  makes  Venus  say 
in  the  first  scene  of  his  tragedy).  Likewise  Myrrha  was 
nothing  more  than  the  instrument  of  the  vengeance  of 
Venus  against  her  mother,  Cecris. 

The  effects  of  such  a  curse  thrown  upon  two  such 
different  natures  must  undoubtedly  be  revealed  in  two 
entirely  opposite  manners.  One  is  a  pure  maiden  repre- 
sented as  forced  by  a  mysterious  and  invisible  power  to 
a  nefarious  passion,  and  owing  to  the  horror  which  it 
produces  in  her  she  goes  to  meet  her  death  in  order  not 
to  become  guilty. 

The  other  is  the  woman  who  is  conscious  of  the  mon- 
strous consequences  her  wicked  passion  may  lead  to,  but 
she  does  not  struggle  against  it  and  wishes  to  die  only  in 
the  fear  that  if  her  passion  is  revealed  it  may  not  be 
reciprocated. 

Myrrha  dies  because  she  is  unable  to  find  in  her  youthful 
and  weak  nature  the  strength  to  dominate  her  ardent 
passion,  and  fears  that  it  may  be  discovered  by  the  one 
who  inspired  it,  and  she  kills  herself  when  a  superhuman 
force  tears  from  her  lips  the  confession  of  her  secret. 
Phaedra,  on  the  other  hand,  being  fascinated  and  dazzled 
by  the  beauty  of  Hippolytus,  with  her  own  lips  and  with 
accents  of  fire,  with  a  scintillating  eye  and  in  a  paroxysm 
of  furious  passion,  reveals  herself  to  him  who  inspires  her 
love.  What  leads  her  to  a  dying  state  is  the  knowledge 
that  another  woman  is  preferred  to  herself,  together  with 
the  remorse  of  having  accused  Hippolytus  of  his  fatal 
love,  thus  leaving  him  the  prey  of  his  paternal  wrath. 

Having  mentioned  the  two  distinct  interpretations  I 
have  made  in  the  psychological  study  of  these  two  char- 
acters, who,  both  being  overcome  with  an  abnormal 
passion,  possess  many  points  of  resemblance,  I  will  now 
show  how  I  have  interpreted,  studied  and  executed  the 
character  of  Phaedra. 

Racine  precedes  the  entrance  of  Phaedra  in  the  first 
act  with  some  verses  of  the  nurse  CEnone,  in  order  to  por- 
tray her  as  if  she  were  dying  and  only  anxious  to  see  the 
light  of  the  sun  before  taking  leave  of  life.     I  deem  it 


2i6         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

necessary  to  transcribe  them  so  that  the  reader  may 
himself  form  a  criterion  of  how  I  looked  when  appearing 
on  the  stage. 

CEnone.  "Alas!  my  lord,  what  trouble  can  be  equal  mine? 
The  queen  touches  her  fatal  end. 

In  vain  to  observe  her  day  and  night  I  attach  myself  : 
She  dies  in  my  arms  of  an  evil  she  conceals  from  me. 
Her  disturbed  grief  tears  her  on  her  bed  : 
She  wishes  to  see  the  day,  and  her  deep  sorrow 
Orders  me  always  to  drive  away  every  body — 
She  comes." 

Truly,  Phaedra  enters  the  stage  pale  and  prostrated 
and  supported  by  her  maids,  not  even  having  the  strength 
to  speak. 

My  study  here  consisted  in  finding  the  right  tone  of 
voice  and  the  exact  expression  of  the  state  of  Phaedra, 
caused  not  by  a  physical  but  by  a  moral  state,  which 
weakening  the  body  would  later  be  followed  by  a  reaction 
at  the  announcement  of  some  happy  event.  Otherwise 
how  could  I  be  able  to  last  until  the  end  of  the  action,  and 
stand  so  many  emotions  and  accomplish  so  many  deeds? 
Thus,  in  all  the  expressions  of  tediousness,  of  discomfort, 
I  had  to  maintain  a  sort  of  feeble  and  monotonous  reci- 
tation. Only  when  the  chord  of  my  profound  love  was 
shaken,  and  its  sound  painfully  vibrated,  then  my  voice 
would  rise  suddenly  only  to  die  in  my  chest  again,  the 
prostrated  state  of  my  body  lacking  the  power  of 
continuance. 

As  an  example,  CEnone  reproached  Phaedra  for  aban- 
doning herself  as  she  does  to  her  grief  which  is  killing  her, 
for  concealing  its  cause  from  all  and  in  that  way  bringing 
about  the  misfortune  of  her  children  who  will  be  forced 
to  bear  a  strange  yoke,  the  one  expressing  herself  thus  : 

CEnone.  "You  offend  the  gods,  authors  of  j^our  life, 

You  betray  the  husband  to  whom  faith  binds  you  ; 
You  deceive  in  a  word  your  miserable  children, 
Whom  you  precipitate  under  a  miserable  bondage. 
Think  that  one  some  day  will  ravish  them  from  you, 
And  render  hope  to  the  son  of  a  foreigner  ; 
To  this  fierce  enemy  of  you,  and  your  blood, 
This  son  which  an  Amazon  has  carried  in  her  side, 
This  Hippolytus " 

Phcedra.  Ah,  gods! 


PH^DRA  217 

CEnone:     This  reproach  touches  you? 

Phsdra:  Wretched  woman,  what  name  has  passed  your  lips? 

(This  dialogue  is  a  complete  imitation  of  Euripides.) 

During  the  recital  of  these  verses  I  remain  at  first  as 
if  insensible  to  every  reproach  of  (Enone,  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  children!  But  at  the  point  where  she  tells 
me: 

"And  render  hope  to  the  son  of  a  foreigner;" 

my  body  shakes,  and  during  the  two  successive  verses: 

"To  the  fierce  enemy  of  you,  and  your  blood. 
This  son  which  an  Amazon  has  carried  in  her  side", 

my  state  of  prostration  ceases,  my  forehead  frowns.     .     . 
I  tremble  all  through  my  body,  my  chest  palpitating. 

But  when  I  hear  the  words:  "This  Hippolytus," 
suddenly  the  outburst  of  my  heart  manifests  itself  with 
the  cry: 

"Wretched  woman,  what  name  has  passed  your  lips?" 

and  I  fall  back  upon  my  seat. 

When,  after  the  repeated  requests  of  (Enone  to  make 
me  reveal  the  cause  of  my  grief,  I  resolve  to  speak,  my 
voice  can  hardly  come  forth.  It  begins  to  strengthen 
only  when  with  a  lamenting  sound  I  am  deploring  the  lot 
of  my  mother  and  sister,  who  were  also  the  victims  of  the 
implacable  hatred  of  the  Goddess,  and  when  (Enone 
frightened  questions  me: 

"Do  you  love?" 

as  a  wild  beast  struck  by  the  arrow  of  the  hunter,  with 
a  despairing  voice  I  answer  : 

"     ...     Of  love  I  have  all  the  frenzy!" 

The  greatest  outburst  I  utter  after  (Enone  says  : 

"Hippolytus!  Great  Gods!" 

with  an  impetuous  resentment  I  answer: 

"It  is  thou  that  hast  named  him." 

Making  a  long  pause  I  remain  in  a  disdainful  attitude. 
When  that  paroxysm  is  ended  my  strength  again  gives 
away,  and  in  a  state  of  lassitude  I  again  fall  upon  my  seat. 


2i8         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Then,  after  casting  a  glance  around  me  to  ascertain  that 
no  one  is  listening,  I  begin  to  narrate  the  origin  of  my 
fatal  love,  and  all  the  pretexts  I  had  imagined  to  send 
Hippolytus  away  from  me.  I  start  at  first  in  a  whisper, 
in  order  to  show  the  state  of  prostration  I  am  in  and  to 
which  I  had  been  reduced  by  my  previous  struggle.  Then, 
with  the  progress  of  my  narrative  I,  little  by  little,  grow 
more  animated  and  at  the  point  where  I  am  expressing 
the  ineffable  sweetness  that  the  remembrance  of  the  dear 
looks  of  Hippolytus  produce  on  my  soul,  my  face  assumes 
a  certain  radiancy. 

"  In  vain  upon  the  altars  my  hand  burnt  my  incense. 
When  my  mouth  implored  the  name  of  the  goddess, 
I  adored  Hippolytus,  and  beheld  him  without  ceasing." 

At  the  appearance  of  the  maid  Panopa  I  collect  my 
scattered  wits  and  at  the  annoimcement  of  the  death  of 
Theseus,  my  looks  change,  to  express  a  mingling  of  stupor, 
of  ill-concealed  joy  at  seeing  the  obstacle  which  hung 
between  the  accomplishment  of  my  vows  so  unexpectedly 
removed.  I  had,  however,  a  care  to  restrain  myself, 
hiding  my  thoughts  even  from  the  faithful  CEnone. 
When  Panopa  had  left,  I  listened  to  the  flattering  words 
of  my  nurse  with  the  satisfaction  of  one  to  whom  an 
unexpected  happiness  has  come  in  which  he  dares  not 
place  much  faith  for  fear  that,  like  a  beautiful  dream,  it 
will  vanish.  During  the  speech  of  CEnone,  in  w^hich  she 
attempts  to  persuade  me  that  from  now  on  I  shall  be  able 
to  see  Hippolytus  without  fear,  that  my  passion  has 
become  similar  to  that  of  others,  the  obstacle  which  made 
me  guilty  having  been  removed,  I  turn  my  body  so  that 
she  cannot  see  my  face,  which  I  take  care  to  conceal  in 
part  with  my  rich  and  wide  veil  which  falHng  down  from 
my  head  covered  all  my  body.  In  that  manner  I  am 
able,  with  a  counter-scene  analogous  to  my  sentiments, 
to  show  the  audience  how  the  words  of  my  faithful  nurse, 
as  a  healing  balm,  are  giving  me  back  life  and  love.  Then, 
deceiving  her  as  to  the  true  reason  of  my  change,  I  show 
that  only  consideration  and  affection  for  my  son  have 
made  me  resolve  to  live,  and  preceded  by  CEnone,  lean- 
ing with  my  right  hand  on  her  shoulder,  I  leave  the  stage 


PH^DRA  219 

with  slow  steps,  as  my  limbs  cannot  yet  have  regained 
their  former  vigour. 

The  renowned  La  Harpe  maintains  that  Phaedra  had 
really  resolved  to  preserve  her  life  for  the  love  of  her 
child.  My  idea  is  different,  for  the  expressions  of  Phaedra 
regarding  this  point,  in  the  scene  of  the  avowal  of  her  love 
for  Hippolytus,  confirm  me  in  it,  and  I  shall  prove  my 
point  with  some  argimients  which  I  hold  to  be  just. 

In  the  second  act,  during  the  remarkable  scene  of  the 
meeting  that  Phaedra  has  with  Hippolytus,  I  make  my 
appearance  with  an  unsteady  step  while  pushed  on  and 
encouraged  by  my  nurse,  (Enone,  to  recommend  to  her 
my  child.  But  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  that  was  only 
a  simple  pretext  to  scrutinise  the  heart  of  Hippolytus. 
Otherwise  fearing,  as  Phaedra  would,  the  irresistible 
ascendency  of  the  one  she  loved  so  much,  she  would  shun 
every  opportunity  of  meeting  him  lest  she  betray  herself. 
Fully  convinced  of  this,  in  beginning  my  scene  my  words 
come  slowly  from  my  lips  and  with  difficulty  I  say  : 

"  My  lord.     To  your  sorrows  I  come  to  join  my  tears. 
I  come  to  explain  to  you     .     .     .     my  claim  for  a  son." 

The  punctuations  indicate  that  the  interruption  of 
these  words  show  that  the  poet  Dall'  Ongaro,  the  trans- 
lator into  Italian  of  this  drama,  was  of  my  opinion,  and 
the  author  confirms  it  in  part,  in  the  following  : 

Phcedra.     "  When  you  hate  me,  I  should  not  complain  of  it, 
My  lord.     You  have  seen  me  strive  to  hurt  you; 
Into  the  bottom  of  my  heart  you  could  not  read. 
To  your  enmity  I've  taken  pains  to  recommend  myself. 
To  the  shores  which  I  inhabit  I  would  not  suffer  you  to 

come. 
In  public,  in  secret  against  you  proclaiming, 
I  have  wished  to  be  separated  by  the  seas  ; 
And  I  have  even  prevented  by  an  express  law, 
If  however  by  the  offence  they  measure  the  pain, 
If  hate  can  alone  attract  your  hate. 
Never  woman  was  more  worthy  of  pity. 
And  less  worthy,  my  lord,  of  your  enmity." 

These  last  four  lines  are  certainly  not  from  a  woman 
who  wishes  to  conceal  her  true  feelings  ;  on  the  contrary 
with  a  method  of  words  and  of  phrases  of  double  meaning, 
Phaedra  prepares  herself  to  make  their  true  signification 
understood.     As  I  have  already  said,  being  imbued  with 


2  20         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

this  opinion,  I  found  that  I  had  to  pronounce  the  words 
with  a  double  intonation,  with  ill-repressed  rays  of  fire, 
that  I  had  to  accentuate  them  not  only  with  the  voice,  but 
also  with  my  looks,  forcing  myself  to  repress  in  my  chest 
the  passion  which  was  devouring  me  and  which  was  about 
to  reveal  itself.  With  some  slight  gestures,  and  a  coun- 
ter-scene, I  would  let  the  public  notice  the  extent  of  my 
grief  at  not  being  understood  by  Hippolytus.  When  the 
latter  believing  that  Phaedra  hates  him  is  trying  to 
excuse  her  behaviour,  saying  that  any  other  mother 
would  have  acted  so  toward  a  stepson,  I  feel  that  the 
resolutions  I  have  made  are  about  to  weaken;  yet, 
without  entirely  revealing  myself,  I  endeavour  again  to 
convey  my  meaning,  saying  in  a  light,  impatient  tone  of 
voice  : 

Phcedra.     "Ah;  my  lord,  I  dare  here  attest,  that  heaven 

From  this  common  law  has  been  willing  to  except  me! 
It  is  a  case  very  different  that  troubles  me." 

As  the  scene  gradually  progresses,  being  no  longer 
able  to  repress  the  passion  which  excites  me,  the  violence 
of  my  furious  ardour  overflows  like  a  swollen  torrent 
which  floods  over  its  banks.  The  voice,  the  gestures 
and  the  accents  express  the  state  of  a  woman,  who,  crazy 
with  love,  casts  aside  modesty,  dignity  and  all  in  order 
to  obtain  the  satisfaction  which  her  guilty  passion  causes 
her  to  desire. 

Then  seeing  myself  despised,  with  the  quickness  of 
lightning  I  pick  up  the  poignard  that  Hippolytus  has 
let  fall,  when  with  an  impulse  of  repugnance  and  dis- 
dain he  has  hurled  himself  upon  me  to  kill  me,  and  I 
point  it  to  my  chest  to  stab  myself.  At  that  moment 
CEnone,  who  during  that  scene  had  been  listening 
unseen,  throws  herself  upon  me,  grasping  my  arm,  which 
she  cannot  however  disarm,  and  drags  me  by  force  to 
my  rooms. 

This  most  exciting  scene  with  Hippol>i:us  presents 
great  difficulties  for  the  actress,  because  if  it  should  be 
at  all  overdone  the  audience  would  find  the  situation  most 
revolting  and  its  efTect  would  be  spoiled. 

In  the  first  scene  between  Phaedra  and  CEnone  in 
the  third  act,  there  is  nothing  but  a  .continuous  portrayal 


PH^DRA  221 

of  mutual  expressions  of  remorse,  rage,  hope,  fear,  illu- 
sions and  contrary  proposals. 

At  times  the  humiliation  that  Hippolytus  inflicts 
upon  her  causes  him  to  become  hideous  to  her;  at  times 
she  excuses  him  and  accuses  herself  for  having  judged 
with  too  much  severity  an  inexperienced  youth  ignorant 
of  the  laws  of  love.  In  this  perplexity  she  tries  to  re- 
enter his  heart,  using  (Enone  as  a  go-between. 

But  when  the  faithful  nurse  announces  in  dismay 
that  Theseus  is  still  alive  and  that  he  is  about  to  reappear, 
with  a  rapid  change  I  assume  the  attitude  of  one  struck 
by  a  great  surprise  and  stunned  by  it.  With  an  in- 
distinct voice,  almost  murmuring  I  say: 

Phcedra:     ".      .      .      My  husband  is  living,  CEnone,  it  is  enough. 
I  have  made  the  unworthy  confession  of  a  love  which 

outrages  him  ; 
He  lives,  and  I  wish  not  to  know  more." 

The  words — "I  wish  not  to  know  more" — I  speak  as 
if  they  meant:     " It  is  the  end  of  all  for  me." 

From  that  point,  the  thought  of  finding  myself  in  the 
presence  of  the  outraged  husband,  incapable  owing  to 
my  shame  of  standing  before  him,  terror  begins  to  take 
hold  of  me.  I  become  delirious,  everything  around  me 
seems  as  if  would  take  life  in  order  to  reveal  to  Theseus 
my  guilt. 

This  manifestation  of  an  almost  total  state  of  abase- 
ment renders  possible  the  consent  that  Phaedra  gives 
regarding  the  infernal  plot  that  CEnone  proposes  to  her 
and  I  succeed  in  portraying  it  by  showing  myself  over- 
come by  a  dreadful  fright,  which,  at  the  approach  of  both 
Theseus  and  Hippolytus,  takes  possession  of  me.  That 
flash  of  the  reawakening  of  my  honest  nature,  appears 
to  be  put  out.  Finding  it  absolutely  impossible  to  meet 
my  husband,  I  address  a  few  lines  to  him  which  express 
my  profound  grief. 

Feehng  abashed  and  not  finding  strength  enough  for 
other  words   I  leave  the  stage  rapidly. 

The  fourth  act  of  this  tragedy  is  a  majestic  one,  re- 
vealing all  the  transcendent  genius  of  Racine.  Certainly 
he  did  not  find  his  inspiration  either  in  Euripides  or  in 
Seneca  for  the  structure  of  this  striking  part  of  his  classic 


22  2         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

work.  It  is  moulded  as  Shakespeare  would  have  done  it. 
The  human  heart  is  nakedly  exposed,  and  all  the  torture 
of  its  rearrangements  exhibited. 

When  Ph^dra  repenting  and  tormented  by  remorse 
comes  trembling  to  meet  Theseus  in  order  to  implore 
clemency  for  the  son,  and  also  to  reveal  the  falsehood 
hurled  at  Hippolytus,  one  can  plainly  read  in  my  face 
and  in  the  way  I  enunciate  my  words  what  an  effort, 
what  a  struggle  I  have  undergone  in  order  to  bring 
myself  to  take  such  a  step. 

I  say  my  first  lines  in  a  beseeching  tone  while  entering 
the  stage,  my  eyes  lowered,  not  having  the  courage  to 
meet  the  wrath  of  my  husband  by  confessing  the  truth, 

On  hearing  from  Theseus  that  Hippolytus  has  "dared 
to  outrage  the  fame  of  Phaedra  and  call  her  false,"  I 
bend  my  head  lower,  humiliated  and  confused  to  the 
extent  of  wishing  to  hide  my  shame  under  the  earth. 
But  when  I  hear  that  "  Aricia  alone  was  the  woman  that 
Hippolytus  would  openly  confess  to  love,  and  who  pos- 
sessed both  his  love  and  faith,"  so  complete  a  trans- 
formation comes  over  my  appearance  that  the  spectator 
is  amazed.  I  no  longer  listen  to  Theseus  ;  I  have  become 
insensible  to  all  he  has  to  say  against  my  son,  so  entirely 
overcome  am  I  wàth  the  tremendous  revelation  which 
has  struck  me.  Remaining  alone,  I  gradually  give  vent 
to  the  fury  repressed  until  that  point.  Then  slowly 
and  with  the  most  bitter  tone  of  scorn,  gradually  raising 
my  voice,  I  pronounce  the  following  stupendous  lines, 
in  which  are  thrown  all  the  sufferings  of  a  heart  which 
is  torn. 

Here  they  are: 

"Aricia  has  his  heart!  Aricia  has  his  faith! 
Ah!  Gods!     when  to  my  wishes  the  inexorable  ingrate 
Armed  himself  with  an  eye  so  proud,  a  countenance  so 

dreadful, 
I  thought  against  love  his  heart  was  always  closed, 
And  was  against  all  my  sex  equally  armed  ; 
Another,  however,  has  bent  his  audacity; 
Before  his  cruel  eyes  another  has  found  grace.  .     .     " 

But  again  my  mood  changes  and  an  outburst  of 
despairing  fury  seizes  me,  when  I  exclaim  : 

"  I  am  the  only  object  he  cannot  hear." 


PH.EDRA  2  23 

And  not  being  able  any  longer  to  place  any  bounds 
upon  my  impetuous  rage,  I  rove  around  the  stage  like 
a  lunatic.  On  seeing  (Enone  I  run  to  make  her 
acquainted  with  what  I  had  learned. 

With  a  savage  rage  I  evoke,  one  by  one,  all  my  recol- 
lections, fears,  anxieties,  my  suffered  torments,  to  show 
that  all  else  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  tre- 
mendous grief  at  that  moment  tearing  my  heart. 

My  mind  being  upset  by  the  venom  of  jealousy,  I  only 
could  see  before  me  the  image  of  my  preferred  rival, 
jubilant  in  the  sweet  embraces  of  Hippolytus!  .  .  . 
The  joy  of  those  two  that  I  imagined  I  saw  seemed  to 
kill  me.  Their  happiness  was  unbearable  to  me.  The 
thought  of  revenge  would  flash  through  my  mind.  .  . 
I  would  charge  (Enone  to  go  and  kill  Aricia.  No!  I 
wanted  to  kill  her  myself.  Hearing  nothing  but  the 
voice  of  jealousy,  I  would  think  of  inciting  my  husband 
to  some  kind  of  torment  for  my  rival,  stirring  up  hatred 
against  the  whole  tribe  to  which  he  belonged.  Returning 
to  my  senses  for  an  instant,  I  was  forced  to  meditate  over 
my  own  guilt,  the  enormity  of  which  would  make  me 
entirely  lose  my  mind.  Crazy  and  staggering  it  seemed 
as  if  I  was  breathing  nothing  but  incest,  lies  and  the 
desire  to  plunge  my  hand  in  some  innocent  blood. 

I  could  not  see,  I  could  not  discern  anything,  being 
delirious  I  would  feel  myself  transported  to  the  presence 
of  my  father  Minos,  the  Great  Judge  of  Hell.  It  ap- 
peared to  me  that  the  fatal  urn  wherein  were  enclosed 
the  decrees  of  the  punishments  inflicted  upon  the  dead, 
would  fall  down  from  his  hands  and  he  would  try  to 
imagine  some  greater  punishment  for  me.  Seeing  him 
throw  himself  upon  me  to  kill  me,  I  utter  a  cry,  acting 
as  if  he  had  grasped  me  by  the  hair.  In  my  contortions, 
in  the  attempt  to  free  myself  from  that  fatal  clasp,  I 
hold  up  my  head  in  the  endeavour  to  run  away  from  his 
furious  wrath  and  with  loud  cries  I  exclaim: 

"Pardon!  a  cruel  god  has  betrayed  thy  family; 
Recognise  his  vengeance  in  the  passion  of  thy  daughter, 
Alas!  of  the  frightful  crime  of  which  shame  follows  me, 
Never  has  my  sorrowful  heart  gathered  the  fruit. 
Even  to  the  last  sigh  of  pursuing  evils, 
I  render  in  torment  a  painful  life." 


224         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

And  I  would  fall  heavily  down  fainting  on  the  floor. 

After  a  long  pause  I  had  arranged  in  order  to  com- 
plete the  scenic  effect  that  (Enone  should  kneel  beside 
me  and  with  pitying  and  persuasive  words  gently  raise 
my  lifeless  body,  lean  my  head  upon  her  knees,  until, 
gradually  recovering  my  senses.  I  cast  invectives  on  her. 
Hearing  her  say  in  order  to  lessen  my  fault  that  the 
Gods  had  committed  the  crime,  I  slowly  regain  my 
strength  and  move  away  from  her.  I  send  her  away 
in  anger  and  contempt,  but  as  I  pass  to  the  other  side 
of  the  stage  the  nurse  follows  me  and  falling  at  my  feet 
embraces  my  knees  in  a  beseeching  manner.  It  is  at 
that  point  that  I  would  address  to  her  disdainfully,  in  a 
paroxysm  of  fury,  the  famous  invective  which  Racine 
has  so  skilfully  written  and  which  is  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  pieces  of  French  literature: 

"  I'll  listen  to  thee  no  more.      Away,  execrable  monster: 
Leave  to  me  the  care  of  my  deplorable  fate. 
May  the  just  heaven  pay  thee  worthily! 
And  may  the  punishment  forever  terrify 
All  those  who  like  thee  by  cowardly  dexterity, 
Nourish  the  failings  of  weak  princes  ; 
Urging  them  to  likings  to  which  their  heart  incline, 
And  dare  for  crime  to  smooth  unhappy  presents 
That  celestial  anger  can  make  to  kings." 

The  fifth  act  offers  not  many  exceptionally  difficult 
cases  of  interpretation  to  the  artist.  Phaedra  has  only 
a  brief  appearance  upon  the  scene  at  the  end  of  the 
tragedy.  She  presents  herself  in  a  dying  condition, 
devoured  by  the  poison  she  has  swallowed  to  put  an  end 
to  her  heartrending  remorse  for  the  fault  committed 
in  a  moment  of  fatal  excitement. 

With  a  subdued  voice  I  reveal  to  my  husband  my 
incestuous  passion,  the  false  accusation  of  the  attempted 
seduction  of  Hippolytus.  I  am  eaten  up  by  the  fatal 
beverage  I  have  taken  and  my  words  come  gradually 
more  and  more  indistinctly  from  my  lips.  In  an  agonising 
state  I  am  laid  upon  my  chair  and  expire  resting  my 
body  in  abandon  and  half  recumbent  in  the  arms  of  one 
of  my  maids,  while  the  other  maids  kneel  around  me 
in  an  attitude  of  profound  grief  and  religious  respect. 


APPENDIX 

OF 

BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES 

BY  L.  D.  VENTURA 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES 

By  L.  D.  Ventura 

Adelaide  Ristori  was  born  on  the  29th  of  January, 
1822,  at  Cividale,  in  Friuli,  where  her  father  and  mother, 
Antonio  Ristori  and  Maddalena  Pomatelli,  chanced  to  be 
with  the  Covicchi  travelHng  company.  But  if  children 
belong  to  the  country  of  their  parents  her  native  town 
was  Ferrara,  the  noble  city  where  the  first  Italian  Theatre 
was  erected,  and  where  also  was  bom  Vittoria  Piissimi, 
a  celebrated  actress  of  the  XVI  Century,  pronounced 
"divine"  by  Garzoni.  He  would  have  said  the  same 
of  Ristori  had  he  lived  three  centuries  later.  Her  parents, 
obscure,  inferior  mummers,  had  no  qualifications  for 
teaching  Adelaide,  and  they  had  five  other  children  to 
care  for — three  boys,  Henri,  Caesar,  August,  and  two 
girls,  Caroline,  who  became  the  wife  of  Pasquale  Tessero, 
and  Annetta  married  to  a  Trojani  of  Rome.  All  of  these 
with  the  exception  of  August,  who  was  at  his  death  a 
major  in  the  Italian  army,  embraced  the  dramatic  career, 
but  without  success.  The  father,  though  a  good  man,  was 
a  poor  actor,  and  had  very  little  intelligence.  Once  when 
leaving  Cologne,  Adelaide  caught  him  carrying  an  enor- 
mous quantity  of  quart  bottles.  "Papa,"  she  asked, 
"what  is  in  those  bottles?"  "You  ought  to  know,"  he 
answered  with  importance:  "Cologne  water." 

"  But  where  did  you  get  it?  " 

"Well,"  said  he  candidly,  "from  the  place  where  other 
people  take  it,  the  fountain  on  the  Square." 

Adelaide  made  her  debut  at  the  age  of  two  months  in 
"The  New  Year's  Presents,"  by  Count  Giraud.  At  the  age 
of  five,  still  in  the  Covicchi  Company,  she  created  much 
enthusiasm,  playing  the  important  part  of  the  Pitocchetto 
(Little  Beggar)  in  the  comedy  of  that  name. 

At  fourteen,  in  the  Moncalvo  Company,  she  dared  to 
interpret  and  with  great  success  Pellico's  "Francesca  da 

227 


2  28         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RLSTORI 

Rimini,"  though  she  had  never  heard  Marchionni  who 
created  the  part.  At  fifteen,  in  the  year  1837,  she  was 
received  into  the  Royal  Compagnia  Sarda  where  within 
three  years,  like  a  military  man  who  in  time  of  war 
advances  easily  from  sergeant  to  captain,  from  secondary 
rank  she  became  leading  lady.  The  illustrious  names  of  that 
company  were:  Carlotta  Marchionni,  Amalia  Bettini, 
Antonio  Ribotti,  Vestri,  Righetti,  Gottardi.  In  leaving 
it  Adelaide  entered  the  Compagnia  Ducale  of  Parma, 
managed  by  Romualdo  Mascherpa,  and  afterward  Luigi 
Domeniconi's  company.  In  this  successive  environment 
of  great  artists  she  was  able  to  study  them  and  to  assimi- 
late what  her  judgment  pointed  out  to  be  the  best,  though 
the  diction  and  declamation  of  Marchionni,  marked  by  a 
great  detachment  of  syllables  and  a  continual  hammer- 
ing, had  nothing  to  do  with  hers.  Nor  can  Ristori  be 
compared  with  Intemari  who,  although  a  distinguished 
tragedienne,  lacked  absolutely  that  grace  and  sweetness 
which  so  often  emanated  from  Ristori 's  acting,  like  the 
perfume  from  a  flower.  In  a  word.  Ristori  had  no  mas- 
ters but  herself.  Hers  was  a  spontaneous  art,  impulsive, 
the  fruit  of  the  keenest  intuition. 

In  his  "  Dictionary  of  Actors"  Lmgi  Rasi  throws  light 
on  old  theatrical  methods  in  Europe.  He  tells  of  a  con- 
tract between  Adelaide  Ristori  as  leading  lady  at  twenty- 
two  and  Righetti  the  manager  of  the  Italian  Royal 
Company.  One  of  its  clauses  was  that  Ristori  had  the 
right  to  select  her  parts  and  to  refuse  any  play  of  immoral 
character.  This  explains  her  ascendency,  her  supremacy, 
and  her  life. 

For  seventy-five  years,  that  is  to  say  since  1780, 
Italian  players  had  not  been  in  France  nor  elsewhere 
abroad,  except  for  the  passing  and  short  appearance  of 
Carlotta  Intemari  between  1830  and  1831.  She  landed 
in  Paris  at  a  bad  moment  for  the  Revolution  of  July  burst 
out  and  she  was  able  only  once  to  show  her  ability,  in 
Alfieri's  "Rosamunda."  It  was  therefore  a  difficult  under- 
taking to  destroy  the  idea  formed  in  France  that  our 
dramatic  art  was  buried.  Great  actors,  well  known  in 
Italy,  had  never  gone  beyond  our  boundaries,  and  nobody- 
knew  or  spoke  of  them  abroad;  but  Adelaide  Ristori, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        229 

having  reached  the  maturity  of  her  high  talent  and  of  her 
enchanting  art,  felt  well  prepared  for  the  battle.  Every- 
thing was  in  her  favour:  her  form  handsome  and  full  of 
plastic  grace;  her  face  gentle  yet  majestic,  quick  to  re- 
flect every  emotion  ;  her  voice  harmonious  and  sonorous, 
flexible  to  the  whole  gamut  of  passion,  from  the  blandest 
sweetness  to  the  most  harsh  utterance  of  disdain,  hatred, 
or  anger.  Besides,  her  recent  social  rise  to  a  patrician 
position  gave  opportunity  for  instantaneous  success,  and 
even  in  the  exclusive  theatrical  field  the  moment  was 
propitious.  Elisa  Felix,  known  as  Rachel — a  contem- 
porary of  Ristori,  bom  only  eleven  months  before  her — 
was  then  the  absolute  queen  of  the  French  stage,  but  she 
had  angered  and  disappointed  the  Parisians  by  deserting 
the  "House  of  Molière"  for  an  engagement  offered  to  her  by 
an  American  manager.  The  Parisians,  as  later  they  used 
Madame  Duse  as  an  instrument  to  crush  the  eccentric  Sarah 
Bernhardt,  made  use  of  the  advent  of  Ristori  to  impart 
a  lesson  to  Rachel. 

Besides  Ernesto  Rossi  she  had  as  fellow-artists  her 
sister  Caroline,  her  brother-in-law  P.  Tessero,  Gaetano 
Gattinelli,  Luigi  Bellotti-Bon,  Pietro  Boccomini,  Giam- 
maria Borghi,  and  others.  She  produced  "Aux  Italiens," 
Alfieri's  "Myrrha,"  Goldoni's  "Locandiera,"  Pellico's 
"  Francesca  da  Rimini,"  and  soared  at  once  amongst  the 
stars. 

Jules  Janin,  the  bulldog  of  French  criticism,  in  his 
unalterable  Chauvinism  could  only  criticise  her  in  this 
characteristic  phrase:  "She  lacks  nothing  but  to  be  a 
Frenchwoman." 

Lamartine,  Dumas  pere,  Legouvé  all  burned  their 
choicest  incense  at  her  altar.  The  battle  was  won.  From 
that  moment,  like  a  world  conqueror  she  went  from  land 
to  land.  Spain,  Holland,  Portugal,  Germany,  England, 
Greece,  Brazil,  Turkey,  Argentine,  Egypt,  North 
America — she  conquered  the  world  with  her  winged  genius. 
It  was  she  and  she  alone  who  inaugurated  a  new  era  in 
the  history  of  Italian  dramatic  art,  thus  clearing  the  path 
for  Salvini,  Rossi,  Emanuel,  Zacconi,  Duse,  Pezzana,  Di 
Lorenzo,  Reiter,  and  Ermete  Novelli. 

In  1856,  when  she  returned  to  Paris,  as  she  often  did 


230         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

for  several  years  afterward,  Rachel's  animosity  was 
increased  on  account  of  Legouvé's  "Medea."  The  great 
French  actress  had  formally  accepted  this  tragedy  for 
the  Theatre  Frangais  but  at  the  moment  of  rehearsal, 
through  caprice  and  arrogance  refused  to  produce  it, 
one  of  her  pretexts  being  that  it  lacked  classicism,  for  it 
was  two  acts  shorter  than  the  canons  commanded.  In 
spite  of  his  good  nature  Legouvé  appealed  to  the  courts 
and  won,  so  that  Rachel  had  to  pay  $30,000  damages. 
This  amoimt  Legouvé  turned  over  to  the  "Society  of  Men 
of  Letters  and  Dramatic  Authors."  This  embittered 
Rachel,  but  the  matter  did  not  end  there,  for  Legouvé  gave 
his  tragedy  to  Ristori  to  read.  She  found  it  suited  her 
and  asked  Professor  Giuseppe  Montanelli  to  translate  it 
for  her.  She  produced  it  and  won  an  immense  success. 
It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  author  in  gratitude  wrote 
in  her  album:  "Rachel  m'a  tue:  qui  m'a  fait  revivre?  Toil" 

.  .  .  Rachel  was  enraged.  When  she  came  back 
from  her  American  tour  she  retired  from  the  stage  though 
only  thirty-seven  years  old  and,  undermined  by  con- 
sumption if  not  by  a  broken  heart,  she  died  in  her  villa  of 
Cannet  near  Toulon.  There  is  a  tradition  that,  between 
1 85 1  and  1852,  Rachel  in  one  of  her  excursions  abroad, 
landed  in  Italy  and  went  to  Verona  where  she  played 
"Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  "  written  especially  for  her  by 
Legouvé  and  Scribe  in  1849.  She  starred  in  one  theatre 
while  Ristori  was  playing  the  same  play  in  another,  and 
the  crowd  which  went  to  hear  Ristori  far  outnumbered 
Rachel's  audience.  We,  who  were  bom  when  already 
the  great  tragedienne  was  at  the  close  of  her  career,  seek 
in  vain  in  the  immobile  features  of  a  portrait  or  in  the 
pages  of  the  most  careful  biography  the  beauty  in  action 
of  Ristori's  face  and  form,  beauty  which  no  brush  of 
painter  or  tool  of  sculptor  is  able  to  reproduce,  but  which 
those  who  were  contemporaneous  have  seen. 

Amongst  these  was  Legouvé,  who  writes  a  homesick 
eulogy  full  of  poetry  bearing  the  faint  perfume  of  a  dried 
flower  between  the  pages  of  an  old  album  : 

"Ristori!  I  see  her  still!  When  she  came  to  Paris  she 
was  thirty-four  years  old.  Tall,  of  magnificent  propor- 
tions, hair  of  chestnut  colour.     I  was  immediately  struck 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES         231 

with  the  sovereign  beauty  of  her  eyes.  And  what  eyes! 
I  only  saw  their  equal  in  Talma  and  in  Malibran.  You 
remember  in  Virgil — natantia  lumina  somno,  eyes  wander- 
ing in  their  sleep.  They  were  liquid  when  their  glance 
darted  soft  and  luminous  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  across  a 
cloud.  But  under  the  stress  of  passion,  when  that  cloud 
gave  place  to  fire  in  the  pupil,  what  Hghtnings!  Her 
voice  had  a  surprisingly  great  range,  velvety,  caressing, 
profound  ;  it  made  shivers  either  of  joy  or  terror  run 
over  the  spine." 

After  reading  that  yellowed  letter  one  feels  the  sincerity 
which  is  embodied  in  a  telegram  from  the  same  Legouvé 
to  Ristori  in  1902  :  "  I  was  born  in  1807.  Only  that  date 
can  prevent  me  from  coming  to  Rome  for  your 
celebration." 

At  that  time  when  she  was  receiving  the  world's  sincere 
homage  the  French  Ambassador,  Barrère,  visited  her  in 
her  palace,  and  the  talk  turned  on  Legouvé  .... 
"How  much  our  great  poet  would  give,  Marquise,"  said 
the  Ambassador,  "  to  be  able  to  hear  once  more  a  verse 
of  'Medea'  given  by  you!" 

"He  shall  have  that  pleasure  done  in  a  way  he  will 
never  forget,"  answered  the  artist. 

"But  how?" 

"That  will  be  between  him  and  me,"  added  the  aged 
Marquise.  "  I  must  go  before  long  to  Turin  where  there 
is  a  telephone  to  Paris  and  it  will  be  by  telephone  that  I 
will  recite  to  my  favourite  author  a  verse  of  the  sublime 
tragedy  to  which  I  owe  the  greatest  triumph  of  my  life. 
He  is  ninety-five  years  old;  I  am  eighty.  Neither  of  us 
would  have  thought  sixty  years  ago  it  would  be  possible 
to  exchange  at  so  many  miles  distant  such  an  original 
salutation." 

After  the  first  triumphs  of  Ristori  abroad,  when  she 
came  back  and  played  in  one  hundred  cities  of  her  own 
country,  she  was  received  with  delirious  applause.  She 
was  already  well  known  and  appreciated  in  Italy  but 
the  cause  of  this  enthusiasm  was  demonstrated  in  the 
epigram  dictated  by  Count  Jacopo  Sanvitale  for  a  gold 
medal  given  her  inscribed  "  Honour  to  thee  who  honours 
Italy  and  Art." 


232         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Everybody  understood  that  she  had  been  a  herald  and 
pioneer,  that  foreigners  had  bowed  their  knees  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  fact  that  a  nation  whose  children  showed 
such  a  mastery  of  art  well  deserved  to  become  free  and 
independent.  The  applause  was  interminable  when  in 
"  Giuditta,"  written  especially  for  her  by  Paolo 
Giacometti,  Ristori  declaimed  the  finishing  hymn  : 

"II  mio  nome  ai  fanciulli  imparate: 
Sappian  essi  che  santa  è  la  guerra, 
Se  lo  stranier  minaccia  la  terra 
Che  per  Patria  il  Signore  ci  die.  " 

(Teach  to  the  children  my  name  : 
Let  them  know  that  war  is  holy. 
If  the  stranger  threatens  the  land 
Which  God  gave  us  for  our  country.) 

When  she  added  : 

Io,  Giuditta,  a  guidarvi  verrò! 
(I,  Judith,  will  lead  you!) 

from  the  galleries  the  people  would  applaud  answering: 
"Let  it  be  to-morrow!"  The  crowd  would  follow  her  home 
and  she  was  compelled  to  appear  at  her  balcony  again  and 
again  while  they  shouted  "  Viva  the  great  Italian  actress,  '  ' 
with  special  stress  on  the  word  Italian.  At  that  time 
Italy  was  divided  and  every  pretext  was  used  to  show 
patriotism.  This  was  disagreeable  to  the  three  abhorred 
enemies  of  Italian  unification,  the  Pope,  the  Bourbons, 
and  the  Austrian  Government,  and  Adelaide  Ristori  was 
watched.  It  seemed  as  if  Italy  was  about  to  break  her 
chains  ;  the  actress  might  snap  the  first  link. 

In  a  performance  which  she  gave  at  the  Municipal  Theatre 
in  Reggio  d'Emilia  on  the  2d  of  November,  1858,  the 
appearance  of  Ristori  as  Giuditta  was  awaited  not 
only  as  a  tribute  to  her  art  but  because  certain  allusions 
in  the  tragedy  at  that  time  were  always  the  occasion  for 
patriotic  demonstrations.  At  the  moment  when  one  of 
these  allusions  was  made  and  the  audience  enthusiastic  it 
was  noticed  that  in  a  box  were  the  members  of  a  society 
called  "  Friendship."  Under  the  cover  of  an  amusement 
club  they  disseminated  the  most  patriotic  propaganda. 
The  applause  from  that  box  was  the  noisiest  in  all  the 
theatre.     Next   day   their   enthusiasm    had    not   cooled. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES         233 

They — twenty  of  them — passed  the  frontier  and  went  to 
enroll  themselves  in  a  regiment  of  Piedmont.  Ristori  had 
inflamed  their  patriotism  even  more  than  usual. 

Unlike  many  Italian  actors,  monochords  who  play 
always  upon  the  same  string  maintain  their  own  person- 
ality instead  of  getting  into  that  of  their  characters,  Ristori 
exhibited  the  greatest  versatility.  She  passed  with  ease 
from  tragedy  to  comedy,  to  drama,  or  even  to  farce. 

If  she  was  great  in  her  classic  repertoire,  she  was  also 
great  in  the  "Adrienne  Lecouvreur"  of  Scribe  and  Le- 
gouvé,  in  the  "Elizabeth  of  England,"  and  "Maria 
Antonietta  "  of  Giacometti,  in  Camoletti's  "  Suor  Teresa," 
Ferrari's  "  Marianna,  "  and  Goldoni's  "  Pamela." 

It  has  been  said  of  her  as  of  other  great  stars,  she  pre- 
ferred poor  actors  to  support  her,  but  this  is  not  true.  It 
is  useless  to  mention  names,  but  the  programmes  testify 
that  other  stars  played  with  Ristori,  though  none  of  them 
could  stand  the  comparison  ;  they  paled  before  the  sun. 

The  first  season  that  Adelaide  Ristori  performed  in 
Pisa,  in  1845,  was  marked  by  an  act  of  great  kindness  on 
her  part.  Luigi  Alberti,  a  young  man  of  the  jeunesse 
dorée  who  afterward  became  an  actor,  asked  Ristori  to 
play  a  comedy  written  by  him,  "  The  Water  Cure  at 
Lucca."  It  was  a  failure.  The  author  was  so  much 
grieved  that  Ristori  offered  to  play  another  of  his  come- 
dies. It  met  the  same  fate.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  leave 
Tuscany  before  I  force  the  public  to  endorse  you,"  she 
said,  and  she  produced  yet  another  play,  which  succeeded. 
The  Florentine  public  applauded  the  gentle  perseverance 
of  Ristori  rather  than  the  play. 

To  render  homage  to  Ristori  when  she  was  electrifying 
the  public  in  Venice,  Quirico  Filopanti  made  this  difficult 
anagram  upon  her: 

"  Or  si  dee  dir  Talia." 
(  Now  she  must  be  called  Thalia.) 

And  Costetti  made  another  one: 

"  Ideal  Riso  d'Arte." 
(  Ideal  smile  of  Art.) 

A  vein  of  humour  was  very  manifest  in  Ristori 's  char- 
acter.    An  author   once    wrote    a    drama    for  her  and 


234         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

delivered  it.  Ristori  found  that  after  having  taken  a 
dose  of  poison  she  had  to  deliver  a  speech  too  long  about 
another  person  whom  she  had  poisoned,  so  a  telegram 
was  sent  to  the  author  :  "  You  forget  that  I  too  am  in  a  hurry 
to  die,  and  that  I  cannot  speak  eternally  in  presence  of 
the  corpse  I  have  made;  shorten  the  agony!"  Another 
incident  will  serve  to  show  how  entirely  she  was  mistress 
of  herself  and  always  far  from  stage  fright: 

It  was  her  habit  to  have  supper  after  a  performance 
and  for  that  function  Sardelle  salad  must  never  be 
omitted.  At  Trieste  the  others  preferred  for  their  own 
delectation  the  Sardelle  of  Lissa.  One  evening  she  was 
reciting  for  the  tenth  time  in  the  Theatre  Armonia,  now 
Goldoni,  "Maria  Antonietta"  of  Giacometti.  The  place  was 
crowded  and  at  every  pause  the  public  responded  with 
delirious  applause.  In  the  last  act  and  indeed  while  the 
Queen  was  hurling  her  famous  invective  against  the 
judges  and  all  the  women  were  in  tears,  Ristori  foimd 
means  to  get  near  her  brother  Caesar  who  was  playing 
with  her  and  whisper  to  him  between  her  most  impas- 
sioned words:  "I  charge  you  not  to  forget  that  Sardelle 
salad!" 

Adelaide  Ristori  had  noble  instincts  and  was  not  only 
a  great  artist  but  a  perfect  gentlewoman.  She  was  a 
patriot  from  her  childhood.  In  1849,  being  in  Rome 
with  the  Domeniconi  Company  and  being  compelled  to 
discontinue  her  performances  on  account  of  the  état  de 
siege,  she  went  on  another  stage:  i.  e.,  the  Military  Hos- 
pital, to  assist  in  nursing  the  wounded.  On  her  tours 
about  the  world,  while  honoured  by  the  most  eminent 
men  of  all  countries,  even  by  reigning  sovereigns,  she  was 
known  to  be  so  fond  of  Italy  that  statesmen  intrusted  her 
with  delicate  political  missions  of  much  importance  ;  and 
she  fulfilled  these  with  courage,  prudence,  and  zeal.  Her 
kind  disposition  and  tender  heart  never  knew  what  envy 
meant.  When  she  first  went  to  France  she  wished  to 
have  the  famous  Ernesto  Rossi  as  a  member  of  her  com- 
pany, and  never  afterward  did  she  refuse  to  play  with  the 
most  illustrious  artists.  Her  memorable  first  performance 
of  "Francesca  da  Rimini,"  in  1865,  on  the  centenary  of 
Dante,  with  Rossi  (Paolo),  Salvini  (Lanciotto),  Piccinini 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        235 

(Guido),  would  be  impossible  to  reproduce  with  such  a 
cast. 

To  her  fellow  artists  in  need  she  was  always  generous; 
even  after  she  was  disabled  by  age  she  kept  in  her  company 
Giammaria  Borghi,  who  had  been  with  her  in  the  Royal 
Campa  gnia  Sarda.  On  many  occasions  she  helped 
Giulio  Buti,  who  accompanied  her  in  every  excur- 
sion abroad,  and  what  kindness  did  she  not  show 
to  Achille  Majeroni?  In  1867,  he  was  in  Florence 
and  as  usual  in  dire  poverty,  literally  starving.  As  soon 
as  Ristori  returned  from  South  America  she  learned  the 
condition  to  which  the  great  Majeroni  was  reduced  and 
she  engaged  him  immediately,  paid  off  his  indebtedness 
and  brought  him  back  from  death  to  life.  Thus  she  did 
with  all  who  were  in  real  need. 

Bettoli  tells  of  one  evening  at  her  house  when  Ristori 
and  her  husband  and  also  Giulia  Grisi  were  present  and 
he  was  speaking  of  Felice  Scifoni,  the  honest  follower  of 
Mazzini,  friend  of  Montanelli,  who  had  been  for  years  a 
prisoner  of  the  Pontifical  Government  at  Civita  Castellana, 
and  who  had  no  food  nor  shelter.  Ristori  listened  and 
then  changed  the  conversation  after  asking  for  the 
address  of  Scifoni.  A  few  days  later  Bettoli  again  found 
himself  at  Ristori 's  and  he  saw  Scifoni  seated  between 
Donna  Bianca  and  Giorgio,  the  former  fifteen,  the  latter 
thirteen  years  of  age,  giving  them  lessons  in  literature 
a  nd  history.  For  each  lesson  Ristori  paid  twenty  francs — 
an  enormous  fee  in  Italy  to  a  teacher. 

Her  brother  Henri  impoverished  by  the  dramatic 
profession  went  into  a  railroad  office  ;  her  brother  Caesar 
from  a  character  actor  became  a  comic  basso  then  a 
teacher  of  elocution.  Ristori  had  to  take  care  of  him 
until  his  death.  She  brought  up  Adelaide  Tessero,  the 
daughter  of  her  sister  Caroline,  and  this  niece  by  following 
her  teaching  and  advice  became  a  famous  actress  in  Italy. 
Ristori 's  sister  Annetta  had  to  depend  on  her  absolutely, 
while  Signora  Carocci,  the  widow  of  Augusto  Ristori, 
became  her  companion  and  best-loved  friend. 

To  dramatic  authors  she  always  extended  generosity, 
asking  for  their  work  more  to  help  them  than  tlirough 
any  need  of  their  plays. 


236         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Luigi  Datti,  from  Corneto  Tarquinia,  wrote  for  her 
"Erminia  la  Cantante";  Luigi  Camoletti,  from  Novara, 
"  Suor  Teresa  Suarez."  The  latter  play  was  made  by  her 
a  success  as  great  as  Salvini's  "  Morte  Civile"  by 
Giacometti.  Paolo  Ferrari  wrote  "  La  Donna  e  lo 
Scettico"  and  "Marianna,  "  Paolo  Somma  gave  "Cassan- 
dra," Montanelli  translated  "Medea"  of  Legouvé,  and 
adapted  "Camma"  from  Plutarch;  and  Giacometti, 
"Giuditta,"  "Maria  Antonietta,"  "Renata  di  Francia." 
To  Giacometti  for  each  play  she  gave  1,600  francs. 

At  the  long  course  of  performances  she  gave  at  Florence 
in  1867,  the  crowds  were  so  great  that  she  had  to  change 
theatres  twice  to  accommodate  them  and  it  is  told  that 
in  "Maria  Antonietta"  the  people  became  so  wrought 
up  with  emotion  at  the  climax,  when  the  unhappy  Queen 
tries  to  resist  as  they  take  her  son  from  her  when  she  is 
going  to  the  guillotine,  that  they  burst  into  hysterical 
weeping. 

During  that  time  Ristori  tried  to  produce  some  novel- 
ties, and  therefore  ordered  some  plays  from  Giacometti, 
Castelvecchio  (Count  Giulio  Pullé),  and  Bettoli.  Gia- 
cometti wrote  "  La  Donna  e  la  Civetta,"  Castelvecchio 
"  Un  Fiore,  "  Bettoli  "  Lavinia," — all  failures  but  neverthe- 
less the  actress  not  only  paid  what  she  had  agreed  but 
more,  excusing  herself  by  saying:  "We  need  some  com- 
pensation since  the  public  has  been  deaf." 

The  following  is  a  list  of  the  plays  in  which  Ristori 
shone  : 

Francesca  da  Rimini,  by  Silvio  Pellico 

La  Locandiera,  "  Carlo  Goldoni 
Le  gelosie  di  Zelinda  Lindoro,    "  "  " 

Sposa  Sagace,  "  "  " 

Pamela,  "  "  " 

Myrrha,  "  Vittorio  Alfieri 

La  Suonatrice  d'Arpa,  "  Davide  Chiossone 

Mary  Stuart,  "  Frederick  Schiller 

Pia  dei  Tolomei,  "  Carlo  Marenco 

Phaedra,  "  Cornelius  Racine 

Medea,  "  E.  Legouvé 

Rosamunda,  "  Vittorio  Alfieri 

Macbeth,  "  Wm.  Shakespeare 

Lucrezia  Borgia,  "  Victor  Hugo 

Maria  Antonietta,  "  Paolo  Giacometti 

Camma,  "  Giuseppe  Montanelli 

Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  "  Legouvé  and  Scribe 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES         237 

Giuditta,  by  Paolo  Giacometti 

Bianca  Maria  Visconti,  "  "  " 

Bidone  Abbandonata,  "  Pietro  Metastasio 

Prosa,  "  Paolo  Ferrari 

Beatrice,  "  E.  Levouvé 

Cuore  ed  Arte,  "  Leone  Fortis 

La  Donna  e  lo  Scettico,  "  Paolo  Ferrari 

Marianna,  "  " 

Debora,  "  Jacopo  Mosenthal 

Her  personal  letters  to  me  give  an  idea  of  her  busy 
life  and  its  varied  interests  : 

"Paris,  26th  September,  1885, 
"  My  dear  Friend: 

"In  acknowledging  your  last  affectionate  letters  I 
come  with  clasped  hands  to  beg  pardon  for  my  delay  in 
answering.  But  in  short,  I  will  tell  you  the  reason,  which 
is  the  same  that  has  prevented  me  from  reading  your 
'  Peppino,'  in  spite  of  the  great  desire  which  I  have  to  do 
so. 

"You  ask  of  me  my  memoirs — Great  Heavens!  Who 
does  not  write  memoirs  nowadays?  And  if  they  do  not 
contain  sensational  facts  and  events  their  failure  is  com- 
plete. What  frightens  me  is  what  the  people  say  when 
a  book  is  advertised  as  the  memoirs  of  Tom,  Dick,  or 
Harry!  'Oh,  fine  things!'  that  one  will  say  (I  hear  the 
saying  and  the  laugh  repeated).  '  Here  we  are!'  exclaims 
another.  Certainly  in  my  memoirs  I  might  have  rather 
interesting  things  to  tell,  but  as  these  are  related  to  per- 
sons, some  of  whom  are  still  living  and  prominent  either 
in  politics  or  otherwise,  I  might  offend  the  pride  of  a  kind 
nation,  nor  would  it  be  decent  nor  delicate  on  my  part  to 
dull  in  any  way  the  memory  of  those  who  are  dead.  In- 
stead, I  am  writing  something  else  which  seems  to  me 
more  appropriate,  although  it  may  cost  me  more  trouble 
in  the  putting  together. 

"You  speak  to  me  of  coming  back  to  America,  of 
establishing  in  Boston  a  Dramatic  School  of  Acting, 
leaving  me  to  guess  the  satisfactory  profit  I  should  derive 
from  it.  You  with  the  soul  of  an  artist  in  proposing  this 
to  me  know  that  you  speak  to  the  soul  of  an  artist,  and 
you  propose  to  that  soul  what  might  be    its   greatest 


238         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

ambition,  but  in  your  enthusiasm  you  have  forgotten 
three  people,  and  my  social  position!  Aly  husband,  my  chil- 
dren ,  .  .  and  the  rest!  A  mere  bagatelle,  as  you  are 
aware.  Now  having  children  to  settle  in  life,  having 
a  social  position  to  sustain,  how  can  you  imagine  that  I 
could  take  them  away  from  their  fatherland  for  three 
years,  dedicating  myself  solely  to  the  life  of  an  artist, 
renouncing  all  else?  And  our  relations,  and  the  Roman 
society,  what  would  they  say  ?  The  very  idea  of  it  would 
make  those  at  home  laugh  as  though  I  were  fit  for  a  mad- 
house.    Judge  then  if  I  spoke  seriously.     Open  earth! 

"If  I  were  absolutely  dependent  on  my  profession, 
through  necessity  the  family  might  be  obliged  to  sub- 
mit to  such  a  sacrifice  of  pride,  habits,  and  affection  ;  but 
this  not  being  the  case,  any  alluring,  artistic  perspective 
has  no  strength  nor  value  for  one  like  me  who  has  made 
art  out  of  one  of  the  integral  parts  of  her  life. 

"Understand  me  without  more  words;  you  have  my 
most  cordial  thanks  for  the  interest  you  have  in  me  and 
my  art,  and  we  will  not  again  refer  to  the  subject. 

"Pay  no  attention  to  the  many  corrections  on  the 
previous  page,  for,  though  done  purposely,  this  morning 
I  have  not  had  a  moment's  peace  to  rewrite  ;  pass  over  the 
form  and  interest  yourself  in  the  substance  alone, 

"  In  a  few  words  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  doing.  I 
have  thought  that  it  would  be  interesting  to  give  my 
views  on  the  interpretation  of  six  of  my  different  roles, 
namely  : 'Lady  Macbeth,  'Myrrha,' by  Alfieri,  'Phaedra,' by 
Racine  (by  way  of  contrast),  'Elizabeth  of  England,' 
and  'Mary  Stuart'  (always  by  contrast  of  character),  and 
Legouvé's  'Medea.'  Already  I  have  finished  the  first  four; 
I  am  now  at  Stuart.  I  tell  why  I  represented  those 
personages  as  I  did,  the  physical  causes,  also  the  moral 
ones.  I  compare  the  different  ways  in  which  they  were 
conceived  by  the  great  ancient  masters,  Seneca  and 
Euripides,  and  have  shown  how  Racine  used  their  ideas 
in  order  that  his  'Phasdra'  might  be  more  appreciated. 

"  My  essay  on  'Lady  Macbeth'  has  cost  me  a  great  deal 
of  labour  to  evolve  in  penetrating  to  its  meanings  and 
evolving  the  causes  which  produced  the  legitimate 
effects  indicated  by  the  author. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        239 

"The  comparison  between  'Myrrha'  and  'Phaedra'  has 
also  been  difficult.  The  first  is  a  pure  virgin,  a  victim 
of  destiny,  but  the  second,  knowing  the  abominable 
consequences  certain  to  ensue  from  her  fatal  passion, 
cannot  resist  the  intoxication  of  love  and  throws  herself 
into  it  headlong,  regardless  of  all  else.  The  rest  proceeds 
from  this  idea. 

"  My  intention  is  to  have  the  book  published  in  England 
with  Italian  quotations  and  original  text,  and  vice 
versa  in  Italy  ;  in  France  with  quotations  in  the  different 
languages,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  composition; 
in  Italy  with  French  or  English  text  as  the  case  may 
be,  at  the  bottom  of  the  page;  perhaps  in  Germany  the 
same.  What  do  you  think  of  my  idea  ?  It  may  be  useful 
to  artists  and  arouse  general  interest,  but  would  appeal 
chiefly  to  authors  and  to  amateurs.  Do  you  believe  that 
this  book  would  receive  a  welcome  in  the  United  States 
if  I  had  it  published  there  in  English  ?  Would  the  sale  be 
profitable?  Curiosity  might  help  it,  since  it  would  bear 
my  name.  What  is  your  opinion  of  the  publishers  of 
Boston?  What  are  their  conditions?  Answer  me  point 
by  point  all  these  questions  thoughtfully,  practically, 
without  letting  yourself  be  influenced  either  by  the  Italian 
elan,  or  by  the  friendship  which  you  have  for  me,  or  by 
artistic  instinct. 

"  I  shall  remain  in  Paris  until  the  loth  of  November, 
then  we  will  go  to  Rome  to  plant  our  roots  for  a  new 
summer.  We  have  spent  the  summer  months  very 
pleasantly  between  St.  Moritz,  Lake  of  Como,  Lucerne, 
and  Alsace,  where  our  friends  have  a  magnificent  castle. 
The  change  of  air  has  done  me  and  my  children  a  great 
deal  of  good  and  the  medical  treatment  has  helped  my 
husband.     We  are  all  very  well. 

"  In  Paris  there  is  nothing  new.,  except  that  poverty 
grows,  and  people  fared  better  when  they  fared 
worse!  Nobody  knows  how  it  will  end.  As  soon 
as  the  work  on  my  essay  is  finished  I  will  read  your 
little  book. 

"Take  better  care  of  your  health.  Write  me  soon. 
My  regards  to  the  Rotoli 's,  a  little  kiss  to  the  dear  she- 
cat — no,  no,  he-cat,  Ristoro's  son. 


240         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

"Many  thanks  for  her  kind  remembrance  to  Mrs. 
Clement. 

"  My  husband,  Georgio  and  Trojani  salute  you,  as  does 
Bianca  with  me  very  cordially,  and  consider  me  always 
your  friend,  Adelaide  Ristori  del  Grillo." 

"76  Via  Monterone,  Rome,  26th  April,  1886. 
"My  very  dear  Friend: 

"  I  shall  not  excuse  my  silence  by  saying  that  letters 
which  I  wrote  you  must  have  been  lost  on  the  Oregon — ^it 
would  be  too  vulgar.  I  have  not  written  because  I  have 
not  been  able.  Many  times  I  had  the  desire  to  write 
but  you  cannot  imagine  how  much  the  publication  of  my 
book  occupies  and  preoccupies  me.  I  get  crazy  with  the 
English  translation  because  I  wish  it  to  express  what  / 
mean  to  say  and  not  to  vent  the  British  ideas.  I  have  to 
compare  it  with  the  French  edition  before  passing  it  to 
the  copyist:  I  correct  here  and  there  what  I  have 
written  in  my  Artistic  Studies,  and  in  my  Memoirs 
.  .  .  .  Add  to  this  the  cares  of  a  family,  the  boring 
duties  to  society  and,  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  an 
accursed  fluxion  in  the  eyes,  and  then  condemn  me  for 
my  silence  if  you  have  the  heart. 

"  Do  not  believe  that  I  have  not  thought  of  the  Biog- 
graphies  of  Marini,  Tessero,  and  Duse  w^hich  you  asked 
me  for.  The  first  two  informed  me  that  they  had  none 
(proof  of  their  carelessness!)  I  do  not  remember  what 
answer  Duse  gave  me,  but  yesterday  I  wrote  to  her  on  the 
subject  again  and  will  send  you  her  answer. 

"Costetti  has  only  published  one  volume,  entitled 
'The  Living  Men  of  the  Italian  Stage  who  are  Forgotten.' 
This  little  book — well  known  to  me — I  send  to-morrow, 
and  will  ask  if  there  are  others.  But  beware,  for  they 
say  Costetti  is  a  jeitatore.  I  don't  know  if  it  is  true; 
people  say  so! 

"  On  the  matter  of  the  book  I  think  I  have  spoken  to 
you  at  length.  At  any  rate  I  enclose  a  little  paragraph 
they  have  sent  me  from  Venice.  Many  other  papers  have 
spoken  of  it.  This  notice  has  been  reproduced  in  English, 
German,  Portuguese,  and  Spanish  papers.  The  Italian 
publisher   said  to  me  as  soon  as  he  saw  my  manuscript 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        241 

that  it  might  be  320  pages  of  print  in  octavo.  Each 
essay  will  be  preceded  by  a  picture  of  me  in  the  costume 
of  the  character  I  represent,  and  on  the  first  page  will  be 
printed  another  picture  of  me  in  ordinary  dress,  in  all 
seven  pictures. 

"  There  will  be  six  essays,  but  the  ones  on  Mary  Stuart 
and  Elizabeth  are  to  be  preceded  by  two  historical 
preambles  giving  an  account  of  the  causes  which 
have  inspired  in  me  sympathy  or  antipathy.  In 
the  essays  upon  Myrrha,  Mary  Stuart,  Elizabeth,  and 
Medea  there  are  many  biographical  sketches  of  a  cer- 
tain interest. 

"I  have  interrupted  this  poor  letter  I  know  not  how 
many  times  ;  I  hope  that  I  have  not  made  of  it  a  paté. 

"We  will  not  leave  Rome  before  the  middle  of  July. 
Bianca,  Giorgio  and  I  to  St.  Moritz:  Giulian  to  Neubad. 
In  September  we  go  to  Paris. 

"  We  are  all  well  and  hope  that  you  are  also.  Are  you 
not  coming  for  a  vacation  in  Italy?  Has  Salvini  really 
made  good  business  in  America  this  last  season?  His 
performances  with  Booth  must  have  been  very  successful, 
I  imagine. 

"  Is  Rotoli  still  satisfied  with  Boston? 

"Write  me,   and  at   length.     Be  always  a   constant 
friend,  as  is  to  you, 
Yours, 

Adelaide  Ristori  del  Grillo. 

"P.  S.     Many  salutations  from  my  family." 

"Castellamare,  19th  August,  1889. 
"Dear  Friend: 

"  I  send  this  letter  to  your  old  address  in  Boston  hoping 
by  chance  it  may  still  find  you  there. 

"  For  the  last  six  months  I  have  gone  through  a  world 
of  sorrow.  First,  the  illness  of  my  husband,  then  the  very 
painful  illness  of  my  poor  brother-in-law — Trojani — which 
ended  in  death.  This  has  grieved  all  of  us,  for  he  was 
everything  to  us,  as  we  were  everything  to  him  in  this 
world.  I  have  not  left  him  till  the  moment  I  laid  him 
down  in  the  coffin  covered  with  flowers,  and  beside  him  I 
put  a  souvenir  of  mine.     Since  that  death  my  husband 


242  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

has  grown  worse  and  worse;  his  nerves  give  him  no  rest, 
and,  unfortunately,  he  has  hurt  one  of  his  feet,  making 
two  sores  not  yet  healed.  Meanwhile,  my  brother-in-law, 
Pio  Capranica  has  fallen  ill.  You  know  he  is  the  head  of 
the  family,  and  you  may  imagine  how  Giuliano  feels! 
Finally,  seeing  how  much  the  air  and  the  excessive  heat 
enfeebled  Pio,  the  doctors  have  decided  to  send  him  to 
a  more  bracing  climate.  Escorted  by  the  Doctor  and  by 
the  children — who  are  two  examples  of  filial  love — he  left 
for  St.  Moritz,  where  he  arrived  by  short  journeys  and 
now  the  news  from  him  is  very  encouraging.  My  children 
insisted  that  I  should  come  here  to  recuperate  from  these 
great  emotions  and  fatigues,  but  on  the  21st  I  shall  join 
them. 

"  I  come  now  to  the  motive  of  this  letter.  Elena 
Va  resi,  the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  baritone,  herself 
one  of  the  best  lyric  prima  donnas — after  many  indis- 
positions can  no  longer  continue  her  career  and  she  has 
decided  to  go  to  America  to  give  lessons.  With  her 
wonderful  singing  method  it  is  impossible  for  her  not  to 
succeed  in  making  good  pupils.  She  will  start  for  Chicago 
the  ist  of  September.  Some  friends  in  that  city  have 
advised  her  to  go  there,  and  they  would  get  her  a  pro- 
fessorship in  the  Conservatory.  She  desires  to  make 
some  distinguished  acquaintances.  Elena  is  a  charming 
young  lady,  of  something  more  than  thirty  years,  and 
she  has  travelled  a  good  deal  in  South  America.  She 
asks  of  me  introductions,  but  I,  in  the  very  short  time  that 
I  played  in  Chicago,  had  other  things  to  do  besides  making 
acquaintances.  Warmly  then,  I  beg  you  to  procure  me 
among  the  many  kind  acquaintances  you  have  made 
some  recommendations  in  behalf  of  Varesi.  I  will  give 
her  your  address  so  that  she  may  send  you  hers,  and  you 
can  send  her  the  letters.  I  have  written  to  RotoH  also 
on  the  subject:  he  knows  her  well.  Please  do  what  you 
can  for  her. 

"When  you  answer,  address  letters  to  Paris, 
48  Boul.  Malesherbes. 

"  With  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand. 

Yours, 

Ristori." 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES         243 

"Rome,  January  16,    1894. 
"  My  dear  Friend: 

"  Knowing  my  character  and  my  way  of  doing,  I  hope 
you  have  not  judged  my  silence  as  unnatural.  In  fact 
for  a  long  time,  on  account  of  an  accursed  poison  mush- 
room, I  have  suffered  with  my  stomach. 

"  I  have  a  pile  of  letters  waiting  on  my  desk  to  which 
I  must  attend  later.  Imagine  then  if  I  am  not  able  to 
write  long  letters  how  can  I  dedicate  myself  to  write  such 
an  article  as  you  ask  from  me  for  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
Your  news  grieves  me.  I  wish  very  much  it  were  better. 
With  your  talents  you  surely  deserve  a  better  fate.  Do 
not  believe,  however,  that  by  coming  back  to  our  beauti- 
ful country  at  this  difficult  time  through  which  we  are 
passing,  with  no  appearance  of  an  early  change,  better 
things  would  fall  to  your  lot.  We  have  so  many  vipers 
devouring  the  flesh  of  our  beautiful  Italy!  How  will  it 
end?  God  knows,  but  man  cannot  prophesy.  The  truth 
is  that  we  are  all  in  agitation,  thanks  to  the  clique  of 
money-makers  and  of  anarchists,  real  traitors  to  their 
country,  who  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  destroy  order 
and  to  ferment  the  weak-minded  to  lead  us  on  to  anarchy. 
I  assure  you  that  honest  people  suffer  as  from  an  illness. 
But  let  us  leave  so  much  sadness  and  speak  of  things 
which  will  bring  a  smile  to  your  lips;  I  mean  your  wife 
and  child.  The  first  has  a  good  and  gentle  physiognomy 
and  her  expression  pleases  me  very  much — bravo!  you 
have  waited  long,  but  you  seem  to  have  chosen  well; 
many  salutations  to  Madame.  To  the  little  one,  who 
indeed  seems,  as  we  say  in  Roman  parlance,  a  fine  little 
fat  pig,  give  many  kisses;  her  puffy  cheeks  do  not  seem 
to  fear  becoming  flaccid  easily.  Well,  for  your  first  pro- 
duction you  have  succeeded  well.  My  children  are  always 
models  of  filial  love,  and  much  sought  after  in  society.  I 
wish  Giorgio  would  marry.  Let  us  hope.  Bianca  does 
not  show  any  inclination  for  it,  though  (and  it  is  not 
maternal  pride)  I  assure  you  when  she  enters  a  room  she 
is  admired  by  men  and  women  as  a  star. 

"George,  besides  taking  care  of  the  business  .  .  . 
(who  has  not  need  to  nowadays)  goes  on  painting  and 
abhors  idleness.     The  same  can  be  said  of  Bianca.     Both 


244         MEMOIRS  OF  x\DELAIDE  RISTORI 

bestow  on  me  a  great  deal  of  care  and  attention.  It  is 
pathetic.  God  has  wished  to  compensate  me  for  the 
cruel  loss  of  my  husband,  although  the  wound  will  never 
heal! 

"  Let  us  gossip  for  distraction.  Is  it  true  that 
Tommaso  Salvini  went  to  New  York,  invited  by 
many  gentlemen  to  honour  the  memory  of  poor  Booth, 
and  that  he  delivered  a  eulogy  on  all  his  virtues,  such  as 
the  generosity  of  the  dead  actor,  and  that  he  received  ex- 
traordinary ovations?  Let  us  not  speak  of  the  humbug 
written  to-day  in  Florentine  and  Neapolitan  papers. 
The  epithet  '  famous  '  is  scorned  by  the  one  who  knows 
what  a  struggle  he  had  to  go  through  to  deserve  it.  Your 
striking  toilettes,  the  face  of  a  cunning  little  soubrette, 
the  friendship  of  the  most  noisy  newspaper  men,  a  way  of 
reciting  by  jumps  and  convulsions,  and  a  great  deal  of 
hysterics,  christen  you  as  a  model  and  leader  in  dra- 
matic art.  Understand,  I  don't  say  this  of  Duse  who 
really  has  a  great  deal  of  talent,  but  she  is  not  guiltless 
of  those  defects  which  I  have  pointed  out  to  her  and  which 
in  my  opinion  do  not  give  to  her  the  right  to  celebrity! 
The  generation  of  to-day  regards  as  mythological  the 
events  of  thirty  years  ago  so  much  descanted  upon  !  What 
is  to  be  done?  To  change  the  world  is  now  impossible.  I 
still  recognise  all  the  faults  of  the  French  nation,  yet  I 
cannot  minimise  the  honour  due  to  her  in  matters  of  art. 
If  in  Italy  there  is  advertised  the  production  of  a  tragedy, 
everybody  cries  out  that  we  are  going  back  to  our  grand- 
fathers' times:  while  if  you  go  to  Paris  to  see  'CEdipus 
Rex,'  or  'Antigone,'  the  theatre  is  filled  like  an  egg. 
At  home  if  even  Salvini  or  Rossi  would  try  to  revive 
tragedies  nobody  would  go. 

"  I  saw  in  Paris  Mounet  Sully  and  Mile.  Bartet  in 
'Antigone,'  and  although  Mounet  has  all  the  academic 
French  diction,  you  find  always  in  him  the  conscientious, 
intelligent,  delicate  artist  who  worships  his  art.  With 
him  was  a  true  jewel.  Mile.  Bartet;  moderate  in  her 
gestures,  emotional  but  not  effusive,  an  ideal.  What  a 
divine  evening  I  spent  at  the  Fran5ais!  Mounet  Sully 
opens  this  evening  in  Milan  at  the  Teatro  Filo-Dramatico. 
I  am  very  sorry,  because  I  am  sure  that,  having  selected 


-  BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        245 

a  very  bad  moment  for  coming  to  Italy,  he  will  not  have 
the  success  which  he  deserves.  Moreover,  he  who  was  a 
very  handsome  man  with  magnificent  eyes,  having  had 
the  misfortune  to  lose  in  two  days  two  dear  sons,  cried  so 
much  that  his  eyes  were  affected  to  such  an  extent  that 
one  of  them  had  to  be  taken  out  of  the  socket  to  be  treated 
and  then  replaced.  The  consequence  is  that  he  has  be- 
come cross-eyed  ;  which  makes  for  him  a  great  difference 
on  the  stage. 

"  Tender,  sweet,  and  natural  feelings  are  called  senti- 
mentalism  rose-watered  !  'Tis  not  true. 

"  I  finish,  and  you  ought  to  be  satisfied.  But  remember 
not  to  accustom  yourself  to  these  long  letters. 

"  I  hold  the  hands  of  all  three  of  you,  wishing  to  you  all 
the  good  which  I  hope  you  wish  me. 

"Adelaide  Ristori  del  Grillo." 

On  the  loth  of  December,  1885,  she  wrote  : 

"  My  book  is  a  great  occupation  to  me.  I  am  compelled 
to  write  a  kind  of  biographical  preface  and  to  insert 
many  letters  of  illustrious  men,  while  giving  some  touches, 
very  light,  on  art.  This  is  a  very  difficult  thing  for  me  to 
do  as  I  do  not  wish  to  annoy  my  reader  with  theories  and 
it  is  not  easy  to  speak  of  oneself  without  appearing  vain. 
Vanity  is  a  sin  which  I  have  never  had,  and  I  don't  want 
it  to  peep  out  now." 

It  was  natural  with  Ristori  to  be  on  the  stage.  Bom 
of  strolling  players,  she  fulfilled  her  mission  with  sim- 
plicity, although  with  uncommon  gifts.  She  belonged  to 
the  clan  of  actors  like  Modena,  Salvini,  Talma,  Booth, 
who  thought  that  vice  was  not  to  be  portrayed,  but  since 
tragedy  was  unavoidable  it  belonged  to  the  stage  as  a 
reflection  of  life. 

Consequently  she  had  no  tricks  in  her  art,  no  artifici- 
ality. Presence,  facial  expression,  voice,  ideals,  virtues, 
keen  intmtion,  exuberance  of  feeling,  high-level  wisdom, 
inspiration  from  whatever  was  spontaneous  and  human 
in  nature;  behold  the  gifts  which  enabled  her  to 
portray  types  which  are  accepted  as  classic  and  not 
perishable  ! 

In  Ristori 's  art  the  same  quality  exists  as  in  the  liter- 


246  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

ature  of  Homer,  Ossian,  Dante,   Shakespeare,  Cervantes, 
Molière,  Hugo — truth  eternal  in  life,  hence  on  the  stage. 

To  the  last  moment  she  frequented  the  theatre  and 
never  lost  interest,  or  hope  in  its  final  triumph;  but  she 
was  very  slow  to  pass  judgment  or  even  criticism  on 
modem  actors,  unless  carried  away  by  enthusiasm  and 
admiration.     She  said  of  Ermete  Novelli  : 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  great  artist  but  he  must  not  believe  that 
he  can  ever  reach  to  the  proportions  and  to  the  celebrity 
of  Tommaso  Salvini." 

In  a  letter  dated  October  i,  1893,  she  says: 
"Art  was  my  second  life  after  my  family  love,  and  I 
am  still  happy  when  I  can  discourse  on  that  subject  with 
some  intelligent  being.  But  the  art  I  speak  of  is  that 
of  my  own  time — as  it  was  understood  by  us,  the  mission- 
ary one,  not  this  art  of  modem  tendencies,  based  on 
neurosis  and  verily  a  tout  prix.  I  have  the  same  opinion 
you  have  on  Sarah  Bernhardt,  but  we  must  agree  that 
she  has  great  talent  and  great  artistic  perspicacity.  Now 
she  has  deteriorated  in  the  exposition  of  her  qualities 
.  .  .  but  at  the  climax  she  has  a  wonderful  suprem- 
acy of  idea,  not  to  be  equalled  by  anyone.  Duse  has 
talent,  and  is  unique  after  Bernhardt  in  fin  de  siede 
methods.  She  is  more  human,  however.  Her  facial 
mobility  and  absence  of  artificiality  are  gifts,  yet  art  like 
hers  will  die.  Beware!  I  am  extremely  fond  of  her  and 
know  her  well,  which  has  not  prevented  me  from  telling 
her  what  I  am  telling  you.  If  she  is  reluctant  at  being 
interviewed  in  America  it  is  due,  in  my  belief,  to  the 
horror  she  has  of  misconstruction,  for  she  cannot  speak 
English  at  all.     Duse  is  no  himibug!" 

Eleanora  Duse  has  said  and  written  of  her: 
"Adelaide  Ristori,  perfection  in  art,  perfection  in  life." 
In  this  competition  for  generosity  and  gentleness  it  may 
be  opportune  to  quote  the  address  to  Ristori  by  Ermete 
Novelli  who  with  Zacconi  and  Gustavo  Salvini  form  the 
triad  of  unsurpassed  dramatic  stars  now  at  their  zenith 
of  the  Italian  stage: 

"Christopher  Columbus  discovered  America:  what  a 
beautiful  accident!  But  who  was  it  who  discovered  real 
art  to  the  Americans,  at  a  time  when  to  cross  the  ocean 


MAIE.  SARAH  BERNHARDT 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        247 

meant  to  make  one's  will?  Ristori.  Hurrah  then!  Let  us 
call  her  the  Columbus  of  Italian  Dramatic  Art." 

While  I  was  in  Boston  delivering  my  annual  course  of 
Italian  readings  to  a  class  named  the  "Adelaide  Ristori," 
which  used  to  meet  at  the  home  of  Mrs.  Jack  Gardner 
in  Beacon  Street,  Ristori  always  attended  during  her 
engagements,  and  stayed  to  luncheon.  Like  Sarah 
Bernhardt  for  French,  Ristori  gave  a  great  impulse  to 
the  study  of  Italian  in  the  United  States. 

In  a  conversation  with  Adelaide  Ristori  I  asked  why 
she  used  glasses  for  reading.  "  I  like  the  compliment  of 
that  question,"  she  answered.  "My  sight  became  feeble 
after  several  continuous  performances  of  'Macbeth.'  In 
the  sleep-walking  scene  for  twenty  minutes  I  had  to  keep 
my  eyes  wide-open  rivetted  on  one  point,  with  the  glare 
of  the  footlights  before  me.  After  the  performance  tears 
would  constantly  flow  from  my  poor  eyes  and  this  brought 
on  their  present  condition." 

When  Dumas  Ms  died  Ristori,  who  knew  that  I  had 
been  honoured  with  the  great  French  dramatist's  friend- 
ship, wrote  January  8,   1896: 

"What  a  loss  the  death  of  our  Dumas!  Only  bastards 
in  letters,  so  called  innovators,  fin  de  siede,  as  I  call  them, 
could  have  proclaimed  Dimias's  death  as  a  gain  to  art! 
Stupid,  ridiculous!  Had  he  written  but  'L'Ami  des 
Femmes,'  it  would  have  been  enough  glory.  The  new 
French  apostles  are  killing  all  ideals  :  they  lack  resources 
but  in  excess  of  immorality:  and  yet  there  are  scintil- 
lations. .  .  .  Wonder  of  wonders  to  me  Bornier's 
'Fils  de  I'Aretin.'  My  whole  heart  and  life  have  been 
lifted  for  two  hours.  There  would  be  no  happiness  in 
life  if  not  intervalled  by  shadows." 

I  wish  I  could  reproduce  here  fragments  of  Ristori 's 
letters  concerning  Zola's  grandeur  and  Captain  Picquart's  * 
heroism  during  the  celebrated  Dreyfus  case.  These 
letters  were  lost  in  the  San  Francisco  fire,  helas! 

After  Ristori  left  the  stage,  at  an  opportune  moment 
let  it  be  said  in  parenthesis,  she  lived  the  comfortable 
and  unostentatious  life  of  a  gentlewoman  of  refinement. 
She  dwelt  in  modest  and  serene  tranquillity  in  the  Palazzo 

*  Now  a  General  and  Secretary  of  War  of  the  French  Cabinet. 


248         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

Capranica  del  Grillo,  76  Via  Monterone,  in  Rome,  sur- 
rounded by  a  devoted  family,  consisting  of  her  son,  her 
daughter,  and  the  charming  children  of  the  former. 

Her  son  Giorgio,  Marquis  Capranica  del  Grillo,  a  painter 
of  distinction,  was  a  chamberlain  at  the  court  of  the 
Dowager  Queen  Margherita  where  her  daughter  Donna 
Bianca  was  a  lady  in  waiting.  All  Rome  worshipped 
Ristori,  and  the  foreigner  as  well  as  the  Roman  pointed 
at  her  window  or  gazed  at  her  when  she  was  seen  at  the 
theatre,  as  the  greatest  artist  of  Italy  and  of  the  world, 
as  the  best  of  women,  an  embodiment  of  dignity,  rare 
among  people  who  tread  the  boards.  While  her  house 
was  always  open  to  artists  and  diplomats  of  all  countries, 
she  spent  many  pleasant  hours  in  the  company  of  the 
beloved  widow  of  King  Humbert  I.  It  was  after  the 
flattering  accounts  she  gave  to  Queen  Margherita  of 
America  and  Americans,  that  the  Queen  manifested  her 
desire  to  make  a  visit  to  this  country.  Ristori  says  in  a 
letter:  "Her  Majesty  tells  me  she  will  never  be  con- 
tented or  call  herself  acquainted  with  the  world  until 
she  has  had  a  glimpse  of  America  and  those  good  Ameri- 
cans, your  friends  of  whom  you  are  so  justly  fond." 

Ristori  wrote  me  April  2,  190 1  :  "  We  are  happy  when 
Giorgio  is  in  service  upon  the  Queen.  This  happens 
three  times  a  year.  The  Queen  has  for  us  an  especial 
deference  because  she  knows  well  our  devotion  to  her 
and  her  late  husband.  Please  tell  and  talk  to  your  daugh- 
ter of  these  things,  so  that  she  may  understand  what 
generous  souls  mean.     .     .     .     " 

"This  is  not  the  best  moment  for  Italy  and  her  politics, 
as  the  daily  papers  witness.  Fortunately  our  beloved, 
angelic  Queen  Margherita  is  adored.  It  would  require 
volumes  to  tell  of  the  noble  deeds  of  this  poor  martyr. 
As  soon  as  her  son,  King  Victor  Emanuel,  reached  Monza 
with  his  Queen  Elena,  Margherita  took  second  place, 
even  against  the  remonstrance  of  her  son.  There  is  no 
end  to  what  I  could  tell  you  of  the  kind,  courageous 
qualities  of  this  noble  soul.  All  worship  her.  When 
the  people  pass  the  palace  they  stop,  hoping  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her,  and  if  she  goes  to  take  a  walk  in  the  country 
the  peasants  nm  after  her,  surround  her,  kneel  before  her. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        249 

You  ought  to  have  been  in  Rome  when  she  came.  I  was 
ill  and  could  not  go  out,  but  Bianca  was  there  and  told  me 
the  people  went  wild  in  acclaiming  her.  When  she 
appeared  on  the  balcony  escorted  by  the  King,  all  veiled 
in  black,  there  was  no  applause,  but  clamours,  howling, 
and  tears,  tears!     I  am  weeping  too  just  now." 

In  a  letter  dated  the  3rd  of  August,  1900,  she  writes 
concerning  King  Humbert's  assassination:  "And  now 
that  a  monster  has  slain  the  kindest  King,  the  best-hearted 
man,  we  are  plunged  in  the  greatest  sorrow;  we  live  to 
weep — and  they  wish  to  abolish  capital  punishment  !  For 
certain  crimes,  mediaeval  punishment  ought  tobe restored.  '  ' 

On  the  date  of  August  10,  1903,  she  writes  : 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  in  spite  of  my  advanced  age  I  trot 
around  the  house  quick  and  straight.  I  eat  and  sleep 
well,  and  when  I  get  angry  nobody  is  around  to  applaud 
my  tragic  climaxes.  One  would  give  me  twenty  years, 
and  when  art  is  on  the  carpet,  I  talk,  I  talk!  You  are 
right  in  deploring  the  decadence  of  real  art.  Tommaso 
Salvini  is  still  the  luminous  star  of  true  art.  When  Salvini 
comes  to  Rome  to  give  a  performance  for  the  actors'  fund, 
and  play  'Othello,'  I  dress  myself  up  and  I  listen  to  music 
from  Heaven.  There  is  no  artificiality,  but  all  the  beauty 
of  nature.  His  son  Gustavo  is  happily  his  follower  in 
ideals  and  methods.  Wherever  he  goes  he  arouses 
fanaticism.  He  gave  here  two  performances  with  his 
father.  Gustavo  played  David  to  Tommaso's  Saul. 
Tommaso  in  a  blond  wig,  with  his  superb  presence  and 
that  golden  voice,  gave  the  illusion  of  a  man  of  thirty-five. 
In  'CEdipus  Rex'  the  son  is  wonderful  ;  and  this  is  acknowl- 
edged by  the  father  who  says  that  he  himself  could  not 
play  the  part  so  well. 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  'Gioconda,'  a  wound  to  good  sense. 
I  do  not  deny  DAnnunzio's  talent,  but  he  must  stop 
writing  for  the  theatre.  Duse  has  a  great  talent,  but  she 
is  ill,  neurotic,  like  our  century.  Everything  is  nerves 
now.  Novelli  plays  magnificently  certain  parts,  but 
when  he  tries  Salvini 's  repertoire  there  is  an  abyss  under 
his  feet." 

On  the  occasion  of  Adelaide  Ristori 's  eightieth  birthday, 
the  29th  of  January,  1902,   Gaspare  De  Martino,  editor 


250  MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

of  the  Proscenio  of  Naples,  Giuseppe  Cauda,  editor 
of  the  Gazetta  of  Turin,  and  Eduard  Boutet,  author 
of  a  book  on  Ristori,  conceived  the  plan  of  giving  her  a 
public  testimonial. 

Their  idea  was  taken  up  like  a  flash  ;  all  the  papers 
spoke  of  it,  and  a  committee  was  formed  to  devise  the 
fittest  way  to  honour  Adelaide  Ristori.  An  invitation 
was  sent  to  all  Italian  dramatic  companies  to  give  a 
performance  on  that  evening  of  January  in  memory  of 
Ristori.  The  proposition  was  accepted.  A  himdred 
theatres — the  only  example  in  the  world — gave  on  the 
same  date  honour  to  one  who  had  been  the  greatest  artist 
of  her  day.  Special  newspaper  numbers  were  published, 
medals  coined,  especially  one  designed  by  Professor 
Attilio  Formilli;  and  one  in  gold  by  Bistolfi,  ordered  by 
the  Secretary  of  Public  Instruction.  That  medal  was 
stamped  with  a  wreath  of  laurel,  and  encircled  by  these 
words:  "For  Adelaide  Ristori,  the  Glory  of  Italian  Dra- 
matic Art  and  of  the  Italian  name,  on  her  8oth  birthday, 
the  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  offers  this  memorial, 
2nd  January,  1902." 

The  testimonial  in  Rome  was  given  at  the  Teatro 
Valle,  brilliantly  illuminated.  Virginia  Marini  and  Ermete 
Novelli  played  "  Esmeralda,"  and  Tommaso  Salvini  made 
an  address  in  the  name  of  Italian  Art.  He  was  surrounded 
by  artists  of  the  "House  of  Goldoni,"  an  institution  of 
Novelli  parallel  with  the  "House  of  MoHère."  All  the 
artists  were  dressed  in  the  costumes  of  the  time  of  Goldoni, 
with  masks.  Then  was  played  Ferrari's  "Goldoni  e  Le 
Sue  Sedici  Commedie."  Salvini  recited  "  The  Last  Hours 
of  Cristoforo  Colombo,  "  by  Gazzotelli,  and  Novelli  gave 
a  monologue  "  II  Guitto "  ("The  Barnstormer"). 

Paris  and  Cairo  responded  to  the  suggestion.  It  was 
a  never-to-be-forgotten  evening,  which  baffles  description. 
Not  less  than  3,000  telegrams  were  delivered  to  the  noble 
woman,  headed  by  almost  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe. 
The  Government  took  part  and  the  Queen  and  King  went 
to  the  theatre,  while  the  King  personally  visited  her  in 
the  morning  at  her  residence. 

An  album  was  presented  to  Ristori  composed  of  original 
articles  by  authors,  artists,  literary  men,  and  friends. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES        251 

The  Municipal  Council  of  Rome  decreed  that  in  all 
the  schools  of  Rome  the  teachers  should  deliver  a  lecture 
in  honour  of  Adelaide  Ristori  to  impress  upon  the  youth 
of  her  country  the  virtues  and  the  talent  of  this  great 
living  figure  for  whom  her  country  and  her  art  were  the 
only  aims  in  life.  This  thought  of  Ristori  condenses  her 
ideal  : 

"  Our  art  is  the  mirror,  the  emanation  of  life  ;  the  great 
inexhaustible  rest  of  the  soul." 

In  her  memoirs  she  tells  the  secret  of  her  brilliant 
career,  and  shows  the  spirit  of  her  lofty  aspirations. 
Eduard  Boutet  has  written  of  her  an  accurate  biography, 
and  from  the  Ricordo  Nazionale,  published  on  the  occasion 
of  her  eightieth  birthday,  we  can  gather  anecdotes  of  her 
career  as  well  as  souvenirs  of  the  homage  bestowed  on 
this  extraordinary  woman,  as  friend  and  a  philan- 
thropist. 

Having  received  a  communication  that  a  testimonial 
was  to  be  given  her  at  that  time,  Ristori  wrote  the 
following  letter  to  Tommaso  Salvini  : 

''Dear  Salvini: 

"  In  writing  to  you  as  President  of  the  Society  of  Dra- 
matic Artists  I  intend  to  address  the  best  part  of  them 
with  the  expression  of  my  desires. 

"  I  have  heard  that  on  the  29th  of  January — my  birth- 
day-^many  companies  kindly  wish  to  celebrate  it  by 
dedicating  to  my  profit  and  honour  the  proceeds  of  their 
performances.  If  so,  nothing  would  please  me  more 
than  to  see  the  collected  amount  applied  to  the  benefit 
of  the  old  actors  who  were  my  fellow-artists  in  better  days. 
Please  make  public  this  wish  of  mine,  and  with  thanks 
believe  me  affectionately  yours  always, 

Adelaide  Ristori, 
Marchesa  Capranica  del  Grillo." 

After  her  death,  I  offered  my  condolences  to  this  friend, 
the  greatest  and  last  in  the  galaxy  of  contemporary 
artists.     Salvini  answered  thus  : 

"Certainly  she  was  not  a  young  woman,  but  she  was 
so  suddenly  taken  away  that  we  can  hardly  realise  that 


252         MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 

she  had  to  go.  She  is  the  last  ray  of  the  sun  of  dramatic 
art  which  has  gone.  It  sounds  my  call!  First  Rossi, 
then  Ristori:  and  next  will  be  my  turn.  And  as  for 
Ristori,  for  me  also,  it  will  be  the  commotion  and  talk 
of  a  day  ;  then  all  will  be  forgotten  !  " 

No — ^when  an  artist  like  Ristori  dies  everything  is  not 
gone  and  forgotten.  When  men  like  Booth,  Modena 
and  Talma  die,  the  reflection  of  their  private  lives  and  the 
ideals  which  illuminated  their  careers,  shine  beyond  the 
limited  orbit  of  the  stage  and  remain  as  lighthouses, 
testifying  to  sincerity  and  good  work  done. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  testimonial  tendered  to  Ristori 
in  1902,  Tommaso  Salvini  wrote  this  thought  in  the  album 
presented  to  her:  "It  is  useless  to  write  and  speak  of 
Adelaide  Ristori!  This  name  is  a  beautiful  and  glorious 
page  in  the  history  of  dramatic  art.  As  a  woman  she 
commands  respect;  as  an  artist  she  elicits  admiration; 
as  a  fellow-artist,  deep  affection!  " 

On  the  date  of  December  25,  1906,  Tommaso  Salvini 
says  in  a  letter  to  me  :  "I  am  going  to  deliver  an  address  to 
commemorate  Adelaide  Ristori  at  the  Philological  Club. 
I  hope  that  emotion  will  not  overcome  me  and  stop  my 
speech.  I  shall  go  to  Rome  too  for  this  sad  errand  ;  but 
nowhere  else;  for  this  terrible  loss  has  become  an  ob- 
session; it  reminds  me  of  a  long  life  spent  in  admiration 
of  our  art,  and  tells  me  that  I  am  already  dead." 

Though  nearing  her  eighty-fifth  year  Madame  Ristori 
rose  every  day  at  nine  o'clock,  and  would  remain  in  her 
room  reading  the  papers  until  eleven  when  she  had  a  light 
breakfast.  At  one  o'clock  she  used  to  go  to  the  dining 
room  with  her  daughter  Donna  Bianca  to  lunch  and  a 
couple  of  times  a  month,  with  her  son  Giorgio.  Although 
retired  from  the  stage  she  had  a  real  devotion  to  it,  kept 
herself  well  posted  on  all  theatrical  events  and  took  great 
interest  in  new  productions  and  in  artists  of  merit.  For 
two  years  before  her  death  she  had  not  "received,"  but 
to  this  rule  she  made  exceptions  in  favour  of  some  artists. 
Almost  every  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  she  would  go 
driving.  At  eight  she  dined  with  her  daughter,  and  then 
retired  to  her  room,  where  she  talked  with  Donna  Bianca 
until  ten  o'clock. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  REMINISCENCES         253 

In  winter  time  she  went  to  the  Teatro  Valle.  It  was 
the  only  pastime  she  cared  for.  Besides  helping  dramatic 
artists,  she  liked  to  aid  people  of  the  nobility  who  were 
in  poor  circumstances,  and  impoverished  ladies  of  Rome. 
She  had  a  great  affection  for  her  little  nephews,  whom 
she  wished  to  have  always  near  her. 

In  Rome,  at  dawn  on  the  9th  of  October,  1906,  serenely 
Adelaide  Ristori  passed  away.  For  twenty  days  she  had 
suffered  from  bronchitis,  but  there  was  no  alarm  felt  till 
she  grew  feeble  all  at  once.  A  little  before  dying  she 
made  her  confession,  though  she  gave  no  hint  at  the  knowl- 
edge of  her  condition.  At  the  last  moment  there  were 
present  only  her  daughter  Marchioness  Bianca,  her 
nephew  Marquis  Alexander,  and  Doctor  Cuja.  Her  face 
did  not  betray  the  least  suffering.  Her  eyes  were  closed 
as  in  sleep.  Her  head  reclining  on  the  pillow  was  covered 
with  the  characteristic  little  cap  of  white  lace  edged  with 
black  silk  which  she  always  wore  at  home,  and  during 
her  illness  they  never  took  it  off.  Her  hands  held  a  cross  ; 
many  flowers  were  strewn  over  the  bed. 

The  body  was  placed  in  a  walnut  coffin,  between  two 
torches  resting  on  the  velvet  carpet.  Two  nuns  prayed  at 
the  side. 

On  the  mantelpiece,  between  two  small  Japanese  lamps, 
stood  a  little  statue  of  clay  representing  Adelaide  Ristori 
as  Mary  Stuart.  From  the  Capranica  Palace  in  Via 
Monterone  the  body  was  carried  to  the  Church  of  La 
Minerva,  where  the  last  rites  were  performed.  All  the 
Princes,  the  King,  the  Queen,  Queen  Margherita,  the 
Emperor  of  Germany,  the  Press  Association,  T.  Salvini  ; 
all  the  artists  of  Rome  sent  telegrams  and  condolences. 
Senators,  ministers,  besides  her  son  Marquis  Giorgio  and 
her  daughter  Donna  Bianca,  attended  the  funeral.  After 
the  speech  of  the  Hon.  Ciuffelli,  representing  the  Minister 
of  Public  Instruction,  the  body  was  carried  to  the 
Cemetery  of  Campo  Verano,  where  it  was  buried  tempor- 
arily. The  Hon.  Ciuffelli  concluded  his  speech  by  saying  : 
"The  death  of  Ristori  is  the  mourning  of  Rome  and  of  the 
whole  nation." 

L.  D.  Ventura. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Acropolis,  67,  68 

Adelaide,  town  in  Australia,  86 

Aden,  86 

Albert,  Prince,  132 

Alexander,  158 

Alexander  IL,  Emperor,  62 

Alexandria,  City  of,  in  Egypt,  66, 

67,  86 
Alfieri,  Vittorio,  Italian  dramatic 

poet,  16,  26,  40,  194 
Alfonso  XII.,  King  of  Spain  (18^7 

-1885),  50 
Allan,  Madame,  French  actress,  38 
Amazon  River,  89 
America,  37,  72,  95 
Amsterdam,  56 
Andes,  89 

Anne,  Theodore,  24 
Archaeological  Institute,   132 
Argentina,  81,  229 
Aricia,  223 
Arzaele,  41 
Atalia,  61 
Atlantic,  74 
Auckland,  102 
August,  227 
Australia,  95,  96 
Austria,  70 
Austrian  Lloyd,  66 


Babington,  Anthony  (1520- 
1598),  121,  137,  152,  157 

Babylon,  22 

Bacchus,   67,   68 

Bacon,  Baron  Verulam,  Francis 
(1561  -  1626),   143.   144,   154 

Balkans,  82 

Ballanti,  22 

Banquo,  169 

Barrère,  French  ambassador,  231 

Bavaria,  106 

Bazzi,  Gaetano,  7 

Beatrice,  237 

Beatrix,  62,  63,  64,  6g,  70 

Belgium,  39,  59,  70,  83,  143 

Bell,  ProL  G.  J.,  162,  164 


Bellini,  Vincenzo,  Great  Italian 
composer    (1812-46),    18 

Bellotti-Bon,  Italian  actor,  19,  229 

Berlin,  65,  83 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  vii,  229,  246 

Berry,  Duchess  de,  19 

Bianca,  15 

Bianca  &  Fernando,  Title  Italian 
,  play,  5 

Bible,  160 

Boccomini,  Italian,   19,    180,   229 

Booth,  Edwin  Thomas,  Distin- 
guished American  actor 
(1833-93),  109.  244.245.252 

Bourbon,  45 

Boutet,  Edmond,  251 

Brazil,  80,  229 

Brindisi,  102 

Brohan,  Augustine,  French  ac- 
tress (1824-93),  22,  23,  38 
Madeleine,  French  actress 
(1833-  1900),   38 

Brunetti  Theatre,  77 

Buchanan,  120 

Bucharest,  82 

Buda- Pest,  54 

Buenos  Ayres,  81,  86 

Burbero  Benefico,  A  comedy  by 
Goldoni,  28 

Burleigh,  Lord,  William  Cecil 
(1520-  1598),  122,  138,  139, 
151,  154,  155,  156,  157,  158, 

159 
Burleigh,  Lady,  wife  of  the  above, 

151.  153.  160 


Cadiz,  149,  155 

Caesar,  227 

Cafe  Vèr  on,  21 

Cain,  155 

Cairo,  66 

California,  87 

Callao,  91 

Camilla,  30 

Camma,  54,  SS.  75-  236 

Canada,  109 


257 


2^8 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


Canephores  (basket    bearers),    59 

180 
Cape  Pilar,  78 
Capranica    Del    Grillo,    Marchesa 

Adelaide,  v 
Capranica  Theatre,  v,  15 
Caprice,  Le,  22 
Carcano,  Giulio,  44 
Carignano  Theatre,  in  Turin,  vii 
Carini,  22 
Caryatides,  67 
Castel  vecchio,  16 
Cavour,    Count    Camillo    Benso, 

Great     Italian   statesman    of 

the  19th  Century  (1810-61), 

vii 
Cazuela,  76 
Cecris,  194,  199 
Celimene,  25 
Cervantes,  246 
Cesena,  a  town  in  central  Italy, 

vi 
Ceylon,  86 

Ohapado,  viii,  47,  50,  52 
Chorus,  203 
Cinyras,  27,  197 
Cividale,  227 
Civitavecchia,  a  town  in  central 

Italy,  vi 
Clarke,  Mr.,  44 
Clayton,  Miss,  106 
Clemens,  Sam'l  L.  (Mark  Twain), 

240 
Cocomero  Theatre,  12,  69 
Coimbra,  58 

Columbus,  Christopher,  246 
Comédie  Franfaise,  22,  30,  35,  37 

60,    108 
Conciergerie,  77 
Constantinople,  67 
Corinth,  192 
Corinthians,  42 
Co  vent  Garden,  44 
Creusa,  59,  80,  180,  182,  188 
Cuba,  75 
Cultini-Mancini,  19 


Dall'  Ongaro,  22,  219 
Danubian  Principalities,  82,  83 
D'  Annunzio,  Gabriele,  249 
Dante  Alighieri,  one  of  the  great- 
est poets  of  all  times  (1265  - 
i32i),33.  58,  65,69,  109,  234, 
246 


Darnley,  Earl  of,  116,  120,  137 
Davison,  143,  146,  147,  152,  153, 

154,  157.  160 
Delancour,  Mme.,  28 
De  La  Grange,  Mme.,  74 
De     Murska,     Mme.,     Celebrated 

singer,  loi 
Denmark,  103,  196 
Devalliùre,  Mme.,  180 
Diana,  59,  181,  212,  214 
Divan  of  Mahomet,  150 
Domeniconi,  Luigi,   228 
Dom  Pedro,  Emperor,  81 
Drake,  Sir  Francis,  147,  149,  159 
Dresden,  39 
Druids,  18 
Drury  Lane,  107 
Duchess  Marie  Louise,  117 
Duke  Delia  Valle,  175 
Dumas,   pere,  Alexandre    (1802  - 

1870),  16,  24,  27,  38,  39,  229 
Dunaberg,  71,  72 
Duncan,  King,  166,   168,   173 
Duse,  Eleanora,  vii,  229,  244,  246 

Eden,  91 

Egmont,  Count,  143 

Egypt,  66,  86,  229 

Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England 
(1533-1603),  73,  103,  108, 
116,  121,  123,  124,  125,  126, 
127,  128,  129,  130,  134,  137, 
138,  140,  141,  148,  233,  238, 
241 

Elysium,  55 

England,  43,  121,  134,  149,  229 

Essex,  Second  Earl  of,  Robert 
Devereux  (1567  -  1601),  142, 
145.  148,  149.  150.  152,  153. 
154.  157 

Eugenie,  Empress,  34 

Euripides,  68,  210,  212,  213,  214, 
215,  217 

Europe,  31,  64,  73,  74,  109,  147 

Evirycleia,  196 


False  Confidenze,  25 
Ferdinand,  King  of  Xaples,  46 
Ferdinand,  King  of  Portugal,   57 
Ferrara,  227 
Ferrari,  Paolo,   Italian  dramatist 

(1816-1882),  16 
Filopanti,  Quirico,  233 
Fiorentino,  Angelo,  21,  22 


INDEX 


259 


Fleance,  169 

Florence,  vi,  12,  69,  71,  181,  236 

Fluminense,  Theatre,  80 

Forest  of  Irminsul,  18 

Fortis,  Leone,   Italian  dramatist, 

16 
Fould,  Minister  of  France,  37 
France,  59 
Francesca  da  Rimini,  A  tragedy, 

7,  20,  24,  28,  29,  109,  195,  227, 

234.  236 
French  Revolution,  77,  78 
Friuli,  227 

Galatz,  82 

Galleti,  General,   22,   86 

Garibaldi,  Giuseppe,  Italian  pa- 
triot and  general  (1807- 
1882),  57 

Gattinelli,  Gaetano,  Italian  actor, 
19,  229 

Gautier,  Théophile,  (1811-1872), 
French  poet,  24,  27,  38 

Gelosi  Fortunati,  I,  65 

George,  King,  60 

Georges,  Mile.,  French  actress,  38 

Germany,  65,  71,  229 

Gherardi  del  Testa,  Count  Tom- 
maso (1818-1881),  Italian 
dramatist,  16,  75 

Giacometti,  Paolo,  Italian  drama- 
tist (1822  -  1876),  16,  41,  73, 
7.7.  79.  143.  160,  232,  236 

Giorgio,  15 

Giraud,  Count  Giovanni  (1776- 
1834),  Italian  dramatist,  21, 
227 

Giuditta,  232,  237 

Glamis,  164 

Goldoni,  Carlo,  Italian  writer  of 
comedy  (1707  -  1793),  16,  25, 

233 
Gorgiakoflf,  Prince,  45 
Gozlan,  Leon,  24 
Greece,  68,  83,  229 
Gregorius    XVI.,      Pope    (1765- 

.    1846),  17 
Grisi,  Giulia,  Great  Italian  singer, 

Guizot,  French  author,  38 

Hague,  The,  56 

Halévy,  French  dramatist,  38 

Hanover,  59 


Harris,  Mr.,  44 

Havana,  59,  60,  76,  91,  95 

Henri,  227 

Henry  VIII.,  143,  144,  148,  156 

Hippolytus,  211,  217,  220,  221 

Holland,  55,   56,   62,  63,  70,   143, 

229 
Holofernes,  41 
Holy  See,  69 
Homer,  246 
Honolulu,  99 

Horaces,  Les,  Tragedy  of,  30,  34 
Hotel  de  Bade,  39 
House  of  Commons,  155 
Houssaye,  Arsene,  French  author 

(181S-1896),  30 
Howard,  Lord,  149,  150 
Hugo,  Victor,  246 
Humbert,  King  of  Italy,   no,  248 

249 
Hume,  120 
Hymettus,  Mount,  68 

I  Gelosi  Fortunati,  21 

Internari,  Carolina,  Italian  dra- 
matic artist,  19,  196,  197,  228 

Ireland,  151 

Isabelle  IL,  Queen  of  Spain 
(1830-  1904),  46,  50,  51,  53 

Italian  Dramatic  Company,  117 

Italians,  31,32 

Italy,  v,  57,  70,  77,  91,  no,  178 

James    VI.    of   Scotland,    and    I. 
of      England     (1552-1618), 
.  146,  147.   157.    158,  .159.  i6o 
Janin,  Jules,  French  critic  (1804- 
1874),  23,  24,  27,  30,  38,  229 
Jason,  183,  188 
Juar,  154 
Jupiter,  214 

Kalakaua,  99,   100,   lOI 

Kamehameha,  99 

Kannady,  Hannah,  120,  128,  131, 

137.  139 
Karttheater,  40 
Kiefif,  83 
Kishinefif,  83 
Kowno,  71 

La  Harpe,  219 
Lamartine,  229 
Lambrun,  Marguerite,  148,  149 


200 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


Land  of  the  Dead  (Italy  as  called 
by  Lamartine) ,  1 9 

La  Tour,  Count,  104 

Lecouvreur,  Adrienne,  A  drama, 
10,  176,  230,  233,  236 

Leghorn,  vi,  69 

Legouvé,  Ernest  (1807  -  1903), 
A  French  dramatist,  16,  27, 
38,  42,  43,  60,  61,  62,  69,  175, 
176,  177,  178,  181,  230,  231, 

Leicester,  Earl  of  (1532 -1588), 
128,  130,  138,  139,  143,  144, 

145 
Les  Deux  Remes,  69 
Licaon,  185 

LignaroUes,  Louise,  176 
Lima,  86,  88,  89,  91 
Lisbon,  57,  58 
Livonia,  62 

Locandiera,  La,  25,  145,  236 
London,  43,  44,  84 
Lopez,  152 
Lucifer,  151 


Macbeth,  A  tragedy  by  Shakes- 
peare, 17,  43,  84,  85,  107, 
108,  109,  161,  162,  238 

Madrid,  46,  51 

Maedia,  213 

Maestri-Federici,  22 

Maflfei,  Andrea.  Italian  poet 
(1800 -1885),  33,  75,  118 

Magenta,  61 

Majeroni,  Achille,  235 

Majordomo,  89,  90 

Malesville,  French  dramatist,    16 

Malibran,  Marie  Felicita,  a  French 
singer  (1808 -1836),  7,  231 

Mai  vano,  Alessandro,  20 

Manin,  Daniele,  Italian  patriot 
author  and  statesman,   22 

Mantellini,  Gaetano,  translator 
of  this  work,  viii 

Maremma,  ;ì;ì 

Marenco,  Carlo,  16,  33 
Leopoldo,  16,  33 

Margherita,  Queen  of  Italy,  no, 
.248,  253 

Marie  Antoinette,  77,  78,  79,  80, 
108,  233,  236 

Mariveau,  Pierre  Car  let  de  Cham- 
blain  (1688  -  1763),  French 
dramatist,  25 


Marseilles,  74 

Martin,  Henry,  French  author,  38 
Mascherpa,  Romualdo,  117,  228 
Mazzini,  Giuseppe,  235 
Medea,  42,  43.  46,  47.  S»,  59.  72, 
80,  81,  87,  175,  176,  177,  182, 

192.  193.  238 
Mendoza,  Don,  148 
Melbourne,  86,  102 
Melville,  Lord,  135,  136,  137,  138, 

139.  140 
Melyant,  180 

Memorie  del  Diavolo,  A  comedy,  10 
Merry,  24 
Messina,  69 
Mexico,  86,  91,  93,  94 
Meverbeer,  Giacomo  ( 1 791  -1864), 

'  65,66 
Mignet,  French  author,  38 
Milan,  40,  69 
Miller,    Luisa,    Italian    opera    by 

Verdi,  17 
Minos,  223 
Mirandolina,  25 
Molière,  246 

Fountain,  21,  22,  23 
Maison  de,  61,  229,  250 
IMoncalvo,    Giuseppe,    Theatrical 

manager,  6,  227 
Montanelli,      Giuseppe       (18 13  - 

1862),    Italian    patriot    and 

author,  22,  54,  55,  178,  179, 

230,  236 
Montevideo,  86 
Monti     Vincenzo,      Italian     poet 

(1754- 1828),  16 
Mortimer,  120,  121 
Moscow,  62,  63,  71 
Mounet-Sully,  244 
Munich,  106 

Musolino,  Italian  patriot,  22 
Musset,  Alfred  de,  French  poet,  22 
My  cense,  214 
Myrrha,  A  tragedy,  25,  26,  27,  28, 

32,  38,  40,  194,  238,  239 
Mytens,  133 


Naples,  69 

Napoleon  III.,    Emperor  (1808  — 

1868),  61,  69 
Narvaez,  Loja,    Duke  of  Valenza 

(1800-  1868),  48,  49,  50 
New    Year's     Presents,     The,     A 

comedy,  3 


INDEX 


261 


New  York,  72,  94,  95 
New  Zealand,  86,  101 
Niccolini,  Gio.  Batt.,  175 

Theatre,   197 
Niobe,  181 

Norma,  Opera  by  Bellini,  18 
North  America,  229 
Norway,  106 
Nota,  16,  25 

Nottingham,  Countess  of,  153,  154 
Novara,  a  town  in  North  Italy,  7 
Novelli,  Ermete,  229,  246,  250 

Occidental  Vestal,  150 

Ode,  Mme.,  34,  35 

Odeon,  62,  64 

CEnone,    45,    210,    212,    215,    217, 

218,  223 
Ophelia,  105, 
Oporto,  57 
Oroveso,  18 
Oroyo,  89 

Orpheus,    158,  182,  187,  188,  191 
Ossian,  246 
Ovid,  208 

Pacific  Ocean,  87 

Panama,  gì 

Panopa,  210,  213,  218 

Pantelicus,  68 

Paris,  22,  27,  35,  37,  39,  43,  62, 

63,  69,  83,  108,  178 
Parliament,   146,  150,  156 
Parnassus,  68 
Pary,  152 
Pasta,  7 

Patagonians,  86,  87 
Paulet,  120,  121,  130,  138 
Pecca,  Cardinal,  vii 
Pellico,      Silvio,      Italian       poet 

(1788-  1854),  7,  16,  20,  69 
Pereus,  198 
Peru,  87, 88, 89 
Phcedra,  45,  60,  210,  238,  239 
Philadelphia,  109 
Philip  II.,  King  of  Spain  (1527  - 

1598),  146,  J48 
Pia  dei  Tolomei,  A  tragedy,   12, 

236 
Pia,  Queen  of  Portugal,  58 
Picquart,  Captain,  247 
Piraeus,  The,  67 

Pius  IX,  Pope  (1814- 1878),  17 
Plaideurs,  Les,  61 


Planat  de  la  Faye,  180 

Plutarch,  54 

Pomatelli,  Maddalena,  227 

Pontiff,  126 

Pontifical  States,  vi 

Popham,  Judge,  143,  144 

Port  Jackson,  102 

Portugal,  57,  58,  59,  103,  229 

Prémory,  Jules  de  24 

Prussia,  65 

Puebla,  86,  93 

Puntas  Arenas,  88 

Puritan,  146 

Queen  of  Scots,  Mary,  115,   120, 
Quillotta,  87 

Rachel,  Elisa,  Rachel  Felix 
(1821  -  1858),  French  traged- 
ienne, 22,  23,  24,  28,  29,  30, 
31,  32,  33,  34,  35,  36,37,  175, 
179,  180,  229,  230 

Racine,  Jean Baptiste,  45,  60,  210, 
212, 214, 215, 238 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  (i 552-1618), 
144 

Rangabey,  67 

Raphael,  176 

Redskins,  87 

Regine,  French  critic,  38 

Regio  Teatro  del  Fondo,  45 

Rhine,  62 

Rhodes,  66 

Rio  Janeiro,  71,  80,  82,  86 

Ristori,  Annetta,  227 
Antonio,    227 
August,  227 
Caesar,  227 
Caroline,  227 
Henri,    227 

Romagnoli,  7 

Rome,  30,  83,  86,  102,  106 

Rossi,  Ernesto  (1829  -  1896), 
great  Italian  actor,  26,  27, 
69,  70,  229,  234,  244 

Royal  Sardinian  Company,  7,  16, 
40,  142,  228,  235 

Royal  Theatre,  65 

Rubini,  7 

Russia,  82 

Saint  Peter's,  in  Rome,  18 
Saint  Thomas,  91 


ib2 


MEMOIRS  OF  ADELAIDE  RISTORI 


Saint  Victor,  Paul  de,  24 

St.  Petersburg,  62 

Salvini,  Gustavo,  249 

Salvini,  Tommaso  (1829),  Italian 
tragedian,  26,  69,  90,  229, 
234,  244,  250,  251,  253 

Samson,  French  critic,  38 

Sand,  Georges,  French  authoress, 

38 
Sandwich  Islands,  86,  99 
San  Francisco,  95,  96,  100 
San  Miniato  al  Monte,  12 
Santiago,  ChiU,  86,  87,  88 
Sanvitale,  Count  Jacopo,   231 
Sarah,  Lady,  149,  154 
Saturn,  Ancient  Roman  divinity, 

42,  190,  192 
Scheflfer,     Ary,     French     painter 
(1795 -1858),    30.    38.      180 
Schiller,  Frederick,  Famous  Ger- 
man poet   (1759 -1858),  13, 
32,  75,  109,  120,  123,  131 
Scotland,  146 

Scribe,  Augustin  Eugene,  French 
dramatist    (1791  -  1861),  16, 
27,  38,  176 
Seneca,  Lucius  Annaeus  (4  B.  C.  - 

A.D.  65),  210,  212,  214 
Seymour,  Admiral,  145 
Shakespeare,  43,  90,  143,  144,  156, 

161,  163,  222,  246 
Sicily,  66 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  162,  164 
Sinatus,  54,  55 
Siracusa,  Count  of,  46 
Smyrna,  66,  67 
Solferino,  61 
Somigli,  Signor,  12 
Sophia,  Queen,  56 
Sophocles,  68 

Spain,  viii,  46,  103,  148,  229 
Stockholm, 103, 105 
Strait  of  Magellan,  86,  88 
Stuart,    Mary,    13,    29,     32,    ^S' 
63,    74,    102,    108,    109,    115, 
116,  120,  131,  132,  136,  142, 
146,  147,  148,  152,  153,  157, 
238,  241,  253 
Suez,  86 
Suffolk,    Duke    of,    Henry     Grey 

(1561  -  1586),  152,  157 
Sweden,  103,  106 
Sydney,  86,  95,  97,  102 
Synorus,  54 


Taddei,  Luigi,  19 
Tagus,  57 

Talbot,  75,  123,  126,  127,  128,  130 
Talma,  109,  245,  252 
Tamburini,  7 
Terra  del  Fuego,  86 
Tessero,  Pasquale,  227,   229,    235 
Theatre  du  Vaudeville,  69 
Theatre  Italien,  21 
Theatre   Lyrique,   69 
Theseus,  67,  210,  212,  222 
Thomas   Ambroise,   French   com- 
poser (1811  -  1896),  105 
Three    Guardsmen,    The,    39 
Toff  oli,  22 

ToUendal,  Lady,  152 
Tommaseo,  Italian  poet,  22 
Trieste,  40 
Trochu,  Mile.,  60 
Turin,  vii,  7,  19,  40,  69 
Turkey,  83,  229 
Two  Millionaires,  The,  39 
Tyrone,  Earl  of,  156,  159 


Udine,  40 

Uffìzi  Gallery,  181 

Un  Curioso  Accidente,  25 

United  Provinces,  143 

United  States,  22,  73,  77,  86,  93, 

95,  100,  109,  no,  239 
Upsala,  103 
Utrecht,  56,  57 


Valparaiso,  60,  87,  88 

Ventadour,  Salle,  54,  176,  180 

Varesi,  Elena,  242 

Vaudeville  Theatre,  64,  69 

Ventura,  L.D.,  v,  226 

Venus,  158,  214 

Vera  Cruz,  86,  93 

Verdi,    Giuseppe      (1813  -  1901), 

Italian  composer,  1 7 
Verona,  18,  40 
Vestri,  7,  228 
Via  Porta  Angelica,  18 
Victor     Emanviel     IL,     King     of 

Italy    (1820 -1878),  57,  100, 

248 
Victoria,  Queen  of  England,  132 
Victory  Actere,  67 
Vienna,  54 
Volantas,  76 


INDEX  263 

Ward,     Genevieve,     singer  and      William  I.,  Emperor  of  Germany, 

actress,   84  65 

Warsaw,  44  Winter  Palace,  62 
Washington,  George,   72 
Weimar,  65,  83 

Wentworth,  146  Zacconi,  229,  246 

What  the  Star   Likes,   75  Zarzuela,  46 

Wiesbaden,   56,   71  Zola,  Emile,  247 


WAY  1  9  1980 

mj               DAT?  DUE 

WUV  1 J 

ydoo^  ^ 

CAYLORO 

PN2688  R5A3  1907 

Ristori,  Adelaide,  1822-19 

Memoirs  and  artistic  studi 
of  Adelaide  Ristori  I 


3  1210  00370  5850 


